


Caught in the Crossfire

by Miss_Murdered



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Action, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 55,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Murdered/pseuds/Miss_Murdered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Trowa's nephew is threatened by the ruthless father who abandoned him, Trowa needs help in order to fight back and protect both Catherine and the little boy. Things get complicated when both Shinigami and the Perfect Soldier come to his aid as the three men must discover where they stand with each other while they work out a way to protect Trowa's family. Primary pairing - 2x3x2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knife Skills

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing (obviously)  
> Unbeta'd up until chapter 5 and the rest was beta'd by ELLE.

The sound of a scream, the rustle of tent fabric and the sudden heavy movement of booted feet woke Trowa up from a not so deep sleep. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. He frequently dreamt of death and violence, the past as both a mercenary and a Gundam pilot haunting his sleeping hours while during the daylight he tried to forget. However, the scream was high pitched. Female. And familiar. It took only a few seconds for the gun he slept with to be produced along with the thin knife and for him to jump out of the bed and head out of the temporary tent to the sound of the disturbance.

Catherine and Eli's tent was not far from Trowa's in the circuses temporary structures. He slept separately from them as he lived his life constantly in the presence of his "sister" and nephew that at night it was the only time he could be alone. Solitary. As he had been. Before the war, when he was still nameless, No-Name. The night was cold as he ran, his long legs carrying him the distance swiftly. In the ten years since the war, he'd grown taller, his now 6"4 frame filled out due to his constant training and performances – the trapeze act that the circus had now become famous for. He'd even allowed the Ring Master to use his image on the promotional poster – an image in which he was shirtless. Catherine had nudged him when they saw the proofs and seemed to be either having some kind of spasm or was winking excessively. He had chosen winking as the option.

"You look handsome… you'll get all the girls in with that…"

His shoulders and wrists still ached from the days two performances, his body starting to heal less readily than when he was teenager, the left wrist still strapped up as he had been weary and exhausted after the night's final performance. It didn't help that his sleep was disturbed with the thought of Catherine and Eli. And Alexei Nabokov. Mostly him. The thought of returning to the mercenary boy he'd been, to the blades he'd been so skilled at wielding, the methods of torture he'd been taught often flashed through his head when he thought of Nabokov. And that was all he could think of now.

Trowa could hear the sound of shuffling feet and the tent flap was open to where Catherine and Eli slept. His heart leapt in his chest, heated blood was pumping through his veins and despite the chilled air and the fact he was only dressed in a baggy white t-shirt and shorts, Trowa felt as though he burned. He wouldn't dare. Nabokov wouldn't. He was the master manipulator. He was using the courts, lawyers, the legal system and bribery to claim custody of the five year old boy that he had suddenly taken an interest in that had not been there the prior years. He wouldn't be so… open. So brutal. He had been insidious. Questioning Catherine's suitability as a mother due to her low earnings and using Trowa's life and experiences to try and retrieve custody of the boy. A boy he'd met less than five times in the five years he'd been born. He tried to convince himself that Nabokov wouldn't but with a sickness, he put the knife between his teeth and held out his gun as he entered the tent.

"This is a message from Alexei. I believe he wanted me to say die bitch," the male voice said in heavily accented Russian.

The man's back was turned to Trowa, Catherine was on the floor, the bedding tangled in her limbs and her eyes were full of tears. And with an awful realisation, he saw the small bed, the one with dinosaur bedding was empty. Catherine's big eyes glanced behind the man and she exchanged the shortest of looks with Trowa as he crept up behind him. He gently dropped his weapons to the floor, the man too preoccupied with killing the young woman in front of him to hear the sound of a quiet killer. Trowa approached the man, putting him in what appeared a headlock. The proximity to the man meant that Trowa could smell alcohol, something cheap and the smell of perspiration. The man was a mercenary. His clothing was threadbare and ill fitting. It was lean times for mercs. Peace never was when the money was earned.

"The  _brother_ …" the man muttered.

"Where are you taking him?"

"To his father…where a boy belongs."

In an instant, Trowa's forceful hands snapped the neck and dropped the man in front of him. Catherine screamed as the body collapsed in front of her. The instantaneous loss of life shocking her in its brutality. Trowa knelt down to his sister, still wrapped in the blankets from her bed and lifted her head up a little more forcefully than was necessary. She was shivering but from shock or cold he was not sure.

"Catherine. How many?"

"Eli…Trowa… they got him."

"I'm aware. How many men?"

Her eyes, watery and large in the darkness looked startled by his tone. He had no time and he knew he was being harsh with her but he needed to leave. Every second was important.

"Four." Her eyes glanced to the body behind Trowa. "Three now."

"Which direction?"

"Back of the tent."

The tents were lined up alongside a wood of interminable size. The Big Top and main attractions were in the clearing that had a main road not far from it. The trailers and tents for the performers and animals were at the back of this, far away from the main road and offered a route directly into the woods. Trowa had not scouted the area, not checked the size of the woods and was unsure if anyone fleeing towards the woods would have to double back on themselves and approach the main road or whether there was a way through. He hadn't needed to know these things for so many years. He was a civilian. A circus performer. An uncle. Not a soldier. Not a mercenary.

He rose to his feet grabbing his weapons and leaving a startled Catherine on the floor. The tent had a rip in it done by a serrated blade, the way the fabric hung showing him that much. Serrated blades. Sadistic sons of bitches.

"Scream, Catherine. Scream as loud as you can."

"Trowa…"

"Get help. Get everyone awake."

"Wha… what are… you going to do?"

"Get him back."

He left, jogging towards the woods, knife in one hand, the gun in the other. For a second there was silence but as he ducked into the trees, the sound of Catherine's screams could be heard.

He smiled, a sad smile on an otherwise expressionless face.

'You will not wish to see this, sister,' he thought.

The men had been noisy around the camp once they'd retrieved their quarry. It was easier for Trowa to think of Eli as something to retrieve. If he thought about the boy, the nephew who idolised him, his shadow then he would lose all sense of reason, all the power he had would be gone and he would be a feral beast thrashing through the woods. He had not been known for infiltration and stealth during the war for no reason. In fact, there was only person he'd ever met who could at least compete – Duo Maxwell for all the jokes and talk was perhaps just as adapt at stealth, though more so in an urban environment.

He stopped for a second once he was completely concealed in the trees and leaned against a trunk, taking a deep breath. The initial heat of the moment had started to evaporate and the sweat on his skin was chilling him to the bone. Or maybe it was the thought of Eli, not in his bed with dinosaur covers and spaceship pyjamas with his mother close by. He tried to banish the thought of Eli being carried by harsh men, men the like that Trowa had known as a boy, for a second he thought he might be sick. The images of his own childhood had flooded to the forefront of his mind. The moments of abuse, the moments he'd been far too young to understand at the time, the hands of drunk and callous men with a boy not old enough to defend himself. He learnt. No-Name learnt but not before things had happened. He steadied himself and took a few deep breaths. That was the life he never wanted for Eli. He stood straight and cocked his head to one side to listen to the world around him.

They couldn't move as fast as he could. He was agile, his body honed and trained, flexible. They were three mercenaries who had drunk cheap booze to get up the nerve to kidnap a little boy and kill a woman. They also had the boy. Unless Eli was knocked out, he couldn't imagine the boy not resisting. It was true Eli was a quiet boy. Catherine often despaired of it when she found him sat with his uncle. They'd fix the Jeeps and trucks that transported the circus performers and equipment. They'd sit together and draw. Eli would watch his uncle train and tell him when he was doing good and bad. They'd look after the lions. She'd smile and pretend she was angry with them. Putting her hands on her hips and pouting she'd look at them.

"What are my two boys up to?"

Trowa would share a small conspiring smile with his nephew which Eli would return as she stalked towards them, grabbing her son for a kiss and a ruffle of hair and leaving Trowa with a touch on his shoulder, his arm. She was very aware of the boundaries of their relationship after the years in close quarters. Maybe now she understood that he needed the space. She had been over-protective towards him for long enough. She did even vaguely regretted throwing the knife at Heero Yuy. Though perhaps not for the startled expression in deep blue eyes. The man who had saved the world, the hero of the free world was someone Catherine had managed to scare with a well-placed knife. She only wished that Alexei had feared her knife throwing skills.

Trowa wished he did. Catherine could be formidable when she wanted to be. As he listened, calming his own breathing, he could determine their direction. They had not gained much of a head start on him. They sounded loud, their boots heavy, movements sloppy and one of them carrying a wriggling child. Indeed, now that his own heart had stopped beating out of his chest and the objectivity could return, he knew they were easy prey. Like his lions, Trowa had been a caged animal for so long, confined to civility and peace, but if he was let out of the cage…

He pursued, his bare feet making his movement virtually silent. He knew he should feel discomfort but his mind was elsewhere, his body was a tool for this mission and he would feel the pain later. He stopped for a second as the voices were suddenly becoming more audible. The men were speaking in Russian and Trowa understood some of the words. His own nationality had been obscure, his own circumstances of birth completely unknown yet he knew from his genetics he was likely of European descent. He could be Russian for all he knew. But that thought chilled him. He wouldn't even want to be born on the same soil as Alexei. He knew some Russian. He knew pieces of many languages. Being among mercenaries meant many nationalities and he learnt any words he could. It had not been to say many of them but to understand what was being said around him. To know when to run. To know when to have a knife to fight back with. Things Eli would never have to learn.

They had stopped and were arguing about direction, Trowa understood enough as he continued his silent approach. The darkness of the night and the trees meant that it was difficult to see but his eyes had adjusted, the stars and a full moon providing enough light for his green eyes. They were not like him. They had torches and they had come into his view. They were doing sweeping arcs around the vicinity. Obviously they were waiting for the rendezvous with their comrade. Listening out for the fourth man in this collection of worthless paid guns. He crouched to the ground to avoid detection as he made his approach to the collection of men.

Two were arguing while the third had deposited Eli on the floor. He looked at his nephew. So like Catherine. He was crying silently, shoulders hunched and sobbing. He remembered saying to Eli that boys didn't cry after a cut on a scrap of metal left lying carelessly around the circus grounds. It was as though boy was taking his advice. It seemed his temperament was a bad influence on Eli. It would help if he'd screamed loudly – as soon as the men had got him from his bed. It would have allowed precious moments for Trowa to be in the nearby tent and have them dead before they left the circus camp. He wouldn't have needed long.

One of the men announced he was going to piss and Trowa watched carefully as he walked away from the group. It made him think of the lions. Predators sought weaknesses, separate and conquer. The man walked unnecessarily far away.

'Bad move,' Trowa thought, he put the gun in the back of the waist band of his shorts with the safety on. There was no need for a gun tonight but he didn't want to lose the reassuring metal of the weapon. Tonight was for his knife. The man found a tree that he'd deemed appropriate. He had obscured himself completely from his comrades which was beyond stupid.

Trowa's steps were not heard as the man went to unzip his fly. His hand had started the movement, the sounds of the zip seemed loud and unnatural against the woods gentle swaying of branches. The man had no time to react as the blade sliced through his neck, the artery severed, his body taking only a few moments to fall and bleed out on the floor. Satisfied with the lack of noise and the effective quickness of his death, Trowa knelt to pat down the man briefly to try and find some information. He found a wallet and he borrowed the dead man's torch to see. The wallet had cash in various currencies – dollars, pounds, Euros and nothing else. He threw it to the ground and stood up, realising his knees were now covered in not just dirt from the floor but blood. There were few seconds before the other two would realise that the man lying dead had not returned swiftly enough so he used the trees for cover, crouching to avoid the torches spinning arcs.

The man with Eli had a hand on the boys shoulder. A hand that Trowa wanted to cut off. His nephew was utterly terrified. Catherine had decided that Eli shouldn't know Trowa's past, there were no stories of mobile suit battles, no stories of gun play and certainly no violence. They had stopped the knife throwing act years before as Eli had got upset when he was too young to understand fully. Why was mommy throwing knives at Uncky Trowa? It made no sense to the boy and upset him. It stopped and Trowa began his solo trapeze act while Catherine worked on the candy concession.

For a second, Trowa doubted Catherine's mothering, the over-protective streak he knew well. Eli had been far too sheltered. Yet he had been complicit. By five, Trowa had already been in a mercenary group so that for him, the fact Eli didn't know blood and pain and death by five was an improvement. He wanted to keep the boy pure. Now Alexei had destroyed that wish. It made him even more sure that the man would never touch the boy again. He may have got Catherine pregnant but Alexei Nabokov was no father. He would die before he got near Eli again.

One of the other men realised his friend had not returned and shouted an order to keep a hold of the boy. Trowa couldn't help the slightest smiles to cross his face. Alexei's mistake had been not to kill him first. If Trowa was dead, Catherine would have quickly followed and his son would be easily obtained. Leaving a former Gundam pilot alive was stupid.

'Never underestimate any of us. This will be your mistake, Alexei. He'll be forever out of your reach after this.'

A beam of torchlight indicated that the man was moving and Trowa stayed hidden. It took only a few moments for him to find the body of his fallen comrade. The knife was raised to repeat the action he'd completed moments before but the man was surprisingly quick. His eyes met Trowa's green, the one visible eye showing a moment of panic. It had been a long time since he'd been involved in close quarter combat and the slowness of his limbs was disconcerting. His injuries and strains from his trapeze acts hampering his abilities from his war time physique. The man died quickly but not before he could shout.

"Run!" the man shouted, a second later the knife slit his throat, the cut less precise and blood spraying over the leaves, tree and Trowa's torso. The men fell but not before the warning was given.

'Shit,' he thought and chased after the sound of running and crashing through undergrowth.

The final man was bright blonde, his hair standing out in the gloom. Trowa ran after him and calculated. The way the man was holding Eli was problematic. He couldn't shoot the man as he ran away as the bullet could go through the body and into Eli. It left only one option. He wanted this over quick. The knife span from his fingers with skilled ease. Catherine wasn't the only one adapt at throwing blades.

A groan was heard as the knife lodged in the man's shoulder blades and Eli was dropped and rolled to the side. Trowa approached his nephew who looked scared and confused. He knelt down to see the boy was uninjured. A few cuts and scrapes but nothing more.

"Eli… I need you to look away. Can you do that for me?"

The boy nodded.

"Look that way," he said pointing towards the other way from the man who was groaning and clawing the ground to get away.

Trowa stood and approached the man, he leant down and grabbed the knife from his back, the scream of pain reverberated loudly. He glanced at Eli who was holding his small hands over his ears and looking in the opposite direction. Trowa forcefully kicked the man over so that he was face up, his eyes were blue, that he noticed as he knelt down and put his knee hard into the man's chest.

The man laughed. "We're only the first."

"I would expect no less of Alexei."

"You can't always protect the boy… he'll get what he wants…he always does."

The man's eyes widened as Trowa drove the knife into the man's heart and then removed it swiftly. The arterial spray started, staining the white t shirt he had slept in, some of his neck and a few splatters on his face. It had been so long since he'd killed but there was still the satisfaction of knowing that these worthless men would not walk the earth. He rose back to his feet, raising bloody hands to his face and then looked over to Eli. He had not looked away for the whole time.

Trowa registered what he would look like. He was covered in other men's blood, in his hair, on his face, the gentle uncle who fixed cars, who drew, was not who Eli had seen. It was the mercenary, the soldier, the killer, the murderer. The monster. He didn't know what to say to the boy, instead, he dropped to his knees next to his nephew and rested his hands gently on shivering shoulders.

"Look at me, it's me, Trowa."

Eli wouldn't look. His eyes darted to where the body was. Trowa's body was obscuring the gruesome image but boy's wide dark eyes were full of unshed tears and his lips trembled.

"They were bad men, Eli. Bad men."

Eli nodded but avoided looking at Trowa.

"Are you tired?"

The boy nodded again.

"Can I carry you back to mommy?"

Little hands suddenly gripped his bloody shoulders and Trowa wrapped his arms around his precious nephew. He lifted him gently into his arms and began to walk back to the circuses camp.

"I'll never let anything happen to you," he said gently, as fingers held tightly to the now red t shirt.

He never would. But right now he would need back up. And there were very few people he would trust to protect Eli. And there was only one he could call.

A man dressed in black with a long rope of hair. The man who had not expected to survive a war and called himself the God of Death. The man with a dubious past and even more dubious present.

He needed Duo Maxwell.

He needed Shinigami.

 


	2. Fever

The bar was smoky, bans for the health of customers not cared for in the circles that descended on the discreet gentleman's club simply called Twelve. It was called Twelve due to the number of original members but times had changed since it had opened hundreds of years ago and it now resided in the L1 colony cluster discreetly located above a row of boutiques and expensive jewellery shops. The doorway was inconspicuous, the number 12 only present on the gleaming blackness of the door and it opened to allow entrance up a flight of stairs. The actual club was above the shops – a large dark room with a chrome and black bar down one side with a comfortable and large seating area and a stage at the opposite end to the entrance. There was music playing but it was quiet, a pulsing low rhythm like a heartbeat that shook through the floor and walls, a sensual beat.

Twelve was a very exclusive club that very few individuals were able to attend. To become a member was a complicated process that included already knowing someone in the club who could vouch for the individual and then stretched to how much money could be donated to continue the "high quality entertainment and reputation" of Twelve. The sort of men who attended Twelve could be classed as the great and the good – men who worked in big business, men who had wives and adorable children and men who gave generously to charity. They were the sort of men who justified their actions at Twelve by doing great deeds the rest of the time.

Twelve had so many rules to becoming a member but it was nothing compared to the rules to allowing a guest or a non-member to enter. It was protection for high profile clients – within Twelve they were untouchable and there was no one who could even get near them. Due to these rules, many established members raised an eyebrow when a young man walked through the room wearing a form fitting black outfit. He was unusual in many respects. Firstly in age, most men who entered Twelve were at least in their forties and clearly the man in question was in his twenties. Secondly there was the clothing… tight black jeans, a tight black t-shirt, a fitted leather jacket and large biker boots – the rest of the clientele wore suits or at least smart attire. There were rules about that. Then there was the third reason. The hair. A long chestnut brown braid that cascaded down the young man's back and ended at the thighs. A few of the regular gentleman wanted to know who had invited the young man as their guest. He was intriguing.

A few made the obvious assumption as they glanced at the young man. The men who attended Twelve had various tastes. Some young, some old, some male, some female. The guest definitely had a certain quality to him, a slight androgyny thing that was palatable to some of the men who were perhaps too afraid of a more masculine man but wanted to play. He had no issue with confidence it seemed as he simply strode through the room, fully aware of eyes upon him and walked toward the small round tables situated near the stage. There was one man already seated at a table, before the night's "entertainment" began, and it seemed this was the member who had invited the young man. A gruff old politician, a senator of the L1 cluster in the Earth Sphere Unified Nations parliament looked at his companion, a beautiful young woman with raven hair and wearing very little as he had requested and smiled.

"Marlow's preference," he said, glancing over to the man at the table who was now being joined by the young man.

Henry Marlow was different for many of the men who attended Twelve. He was old European money but had been disowned many years ago. His money was of mysterious origin and he drifted around the colonies. It was rumoured he fought for OZ and personally knew Treize Khushrenada but it was doubtful. Marlow told tales and many tales were not true. He was also younger than the usual clients – he was in his early thirties rather than the usual old men. A few pairs of eyes watched as he greeted the young man as he sat beside him. A hand moved to the denim clad thigh while the other gestured toward a waitress who approached with a deferential smile. The next moment, Marlow seemed to be whispering into the young man's ear who was looking forward as he did.

The man in black denim was former Gundam pilot Duo Maxwell who didn't appreciate how quickly Marlow had become handsy. His hand was on his thigh and it didn't seem to be moving as the man, his breath smelling of booze, leaned in.

"You are as interesting as promised."

"You get what you pay for."

"Hmm… and what exactly did I pay for?"

To play along, he turned his head towards the man, giving a suggestive smirk. "Whatever you want."

Duo could see the man shiver at his words and it had got the required action as Marlow reached out to touch his face, sweeping away the hair there and running the pad of his thumb over his cheek. He tried not to shudder or react in any way – Marlow was meant to be completely clueless of his actual reasons for being here and he was going to keep it that way. Until the hotel room.

The waitress arrived with drinks and Marlow had taken the liberty of ordering him a glass of expensive whiskey so he accepted it.

'Hey, I'm at an expensive gentleman's club,' Duo thought, 'I might as well try expensive whisky.'

As the waitress in the tiny skirt walked away, Marlow slapped her backside with what couldn't be called a gentle swipe. The girl giggled and walked away waving. Duo tried to stop his eyebrows from raising as this was probably normal behaviour – the girls were obviously trained to accept the attentions of the men in the club. He'd seen a sleazy old L1 senator that he recognised from the news feeds with a young black haired girl virtually in his lap. The guy had given him an eye full as he'd walked in. Seemed they were all perverted here.

He took a sip of the drink and realised how intensely Marlow was looking at him. The guy wasn't bad looking, he figured, tall and dressed in a charcoal suit with a red flower in his buttonhole. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back and he had dark brown eyes that seemed to be fixated on his lips and throat as he drunk. It didn't take much guess work to think of what Marlow was thinking but Duo only hoped he could hold everything off until the hotel room. Until he had the privacy to work.

"I suggest we stay for the entertainment and then depart…?"

"It's your night…I'm yours to do what the hell you like with."

"Oh…I think I can think of a lot of things… Max."

Max was the least subtle name he could pick but this wasn't about subtlety. When Cypher had sent him the specs of the job, the files, the photographs, he'd just packed his bag up and left to L1. He'd just said use Max as his name as an afterthought. He didn't really care anymore. He'd long since stopped being careful about what he did. Maybe he'd got cocky. Or maybe he just knew Heero was around to sort out his messes electronically. Between Cypher and Heero, his occupation and life as it was now had remained hidden from the Preventers and local authorities.

His train of thought was stopped as music started at a louder volume, a girl had come out wearing the tightest black dress he'd ever seen and approached an old fashioned microphone with stand. The club was going for a vibe of vintage glamour – a vintage so old that it predated the colonies as the music started. It was a very old song that started, an old rhythm that was unlike the usual music of that sort of clubs that Duo found himself in. The girl had bright red lips and was standing off centre to the stage leaving a single spotlight in the middle waiting for the other part of the entertainment to arrive.

She started singing, her voice husky and erotic. Duo noticed that a lot more of the tables had become occupied around them. Old men with young women. He saw a couple men with young men who screamed male hooker – they'd gone for eyeliner, mesh t-shirts, shorts. He wasn't going to stoop that low for a cover and plus, it seemed Marlow had only one preference. Long hair. And that he had plenty of.

" _Never know how much I love you, never know how much I care, when you put your arms around me, I get a fever that's so hard to bare, you give me fever."_

On starting the lyrics, another girl started walking into the middle of the stage wearing a lot less clothing than the singer. She wore something that looked like it was made of diamonds, or at least a cheap version, a short dress that shimmered as she walked to the centre of the stage.

"Ever seen the ancient art of burlesque?"

"No," Duo replied.

He'd never been remotely attracted to girls and his first sexual experience, though very unpleasant and he'd been far too young, had been with a man and every one after. He could appreciate women in a vague way but never anything sexual. It was why Hilde probably still hated him.

"Then let me explain," Marlow said smoothly and Duo glanced down as the older man's hand was now rubbing further up his thigh. Fuck. He had a feeling that this was turning the other man on and he feared a men's room blowjob might be requested of him. He had no intention of doing that and he had no intention of getting Marlow alone until the hotel room. That was the point he could safely get his blades out and do what he was meant to be doing.

"Burlesque is not about the stripping… it's about the tease. Yes, the girl gets naked," at this point the girl was removing her garter down her thigh with a little wink towards the audience, "but she does so in a way that is, shall we say, less degrading."

"You can't convince me this ain't just stripping," Duo replied turning his eyes towards Marlow who had a disturbingly hungry look in his eyes.

"Well, watch, Max and see what you think. Perhaps you learn some moves to use in my suite later."

He sat back in his chair, removed the hand from Duo's thigh and folded his arms across his chest. Slightly relieved, Duo took another sip of his whisky and watched the girl remove the dress, slowly, down her body, a smile on her face. The song seemed to be reaching some sort ending as she put her hair down, stood in only sparkly underwear that didn't cover much of her pale skin. She ran her fingers through hair, sensually smiling at the audience and Duo glanced across at Marlow. He figured he probably wanted that move – no lover had ever got him to put his hair down. Not even Heero in their years of being on and off. He could figure every guy wanted it, he supposed they wanted to see how it felt over their bodies but he never had. Never would. It involved trust to do that and sure as hell, he'd never trusted anyone with that part of himself. Heero had come close but that was years ago. Before the Rio mission.

_"He gave me fever, with his kisses, fever when he holds me tight, fever."_

Duo felt himself shiver despite the heat of bodies in the club. He tried not to think about Heero Yuy and how their lives had ended up in the mess that they were. They'd been together for two years after the wars, lived together, joined the Preventers and then seemed from the outside, happy. He had been happy for a time but they were explosive as a couple, liable to fight and argue, then the mission in Rio tore them apart. They tried for some time afterwards but they couldn't look each other in the eye anymore. Sex without kissing, without looking at each other, hands close to strangling each other rather than just holding. He still saw Heero, still cared for him, but they got too close to nearly killing each other if they tried to fuck that they stopped it. He supposed he had to thank the asshole despite himself and everything that had happened between them. The wire transfers he sent at the end of each of his jobs was his way of showing he still gave a damn. A way he tried to keep Heero in the land of the living instead of descending back into the coldness of the Perfect Soldier. He wasn't sure it worked but it made him feel better.

_"Fever til you sizzle, what a lovely way to burn. What a lovely way to burn."_

It was then Duo realised he'd been staring at the bottom of his own whisky glass and there was clapping and whooping around him as the girl now had no clothing on apart from the sparkly thong. The song finished, the men around him clapped as the girl bowed and then walked off the stage in a very sultry fashion.

"Didn't interest you?" Marlow asked, an eyebrow quirked.

"Not into chicks."

"Good… neither am I."

Marlow stood and he offered his hand to Duo who took it and stood up. He had to play along and it seemed an old concept of chivalry was something Marlow did. Another song was starting, a similar old fashioned sound and Marlow pulled Duo forward, forcing him close and almost making him lose his balance from the sudden movement. Marlow smirked as it had forced him into his arms.

"I can't wait to have you," he whispered.

Duo tried to think of the sort of slutty thing he should say but his mind went blank so instead, he lifted his head to the taller man and gave a quick teasing brush of his lips. It seemed it kept Marlow interested and unable to see his real intentions and that was what he needed.

"Back to my suite?"

"Whatever you say."

They exited Twelve with a few glances but Duo wasn't sure whether it was him or Marlow brazen attitude. He had an arm around his waist which made it slightly difficult to walk and they'd nearly got out of the bar when he heard a cough and Marlow had stopped in front of a booth with the senator from L1 that Duo had recognised.

"Leaving so early, Marlow?"

"I'll leave you men to the rest of the evening's entertainment… since I'm the only one young enough in here to get it up, I plan on spending an evening with my charming companion."

"And where did you buy him?"

Duo stiffened and was tempted to knock the lights out of the old senator but knew he needed to act tame… companionable.

"Oh, senator, wouldn't you like to know."

With this exchange, they left the club, descending the stairs and out into the night air of the colony. The air never felt fresh in a colony like it did on earth but Duo appreciated it after the heat and smoky atmosphere of Twelve.

"This way," Marlow instructed as they walked away from Twelve along the boutique lined street.

"No limo?"

"No, Max. I'm sure you've heard of the Grand Royale?"

"The super fancy hotel?"

"Yes, that's the one. I have the penthouse suite and I thoroughly intend enjoying you on every surface of it."

They arrived at the Grand Royale quickly, Marlow keeping a hand on him at all times during the walk as Duo began to feel his heart racing. Marlow thought he was the weak one in the situation, the prey, ready to be taken, used and devoured without complaint. Little did he know it was in fact Marlow that was the prey.

The knife he kept in his boot was serrated, the one attached to his left thigh a simple blade but just as lethal. Once they arrived at the penthouse suite, Marlow removed his suit jacket and motioned for Duo to remove his leather jacket. Duo could feel his heart beating faster as he removed the jacket and watched as Marlow approached the mini-bar to pour two glasses of whisky from a glittering decanter and added ice.

"A little drink before…?"

"I thought you had plans for me."

"Well, a little alcohol relaxes the soul."

He took the glass, swirled the drink around and took a sip looking up at the other man. Marlow stepped closer, a hand now in the back pocket of his jeans and Duo tried to not look uncomfortable. He was meant to be used to doing this and he still had to wait a few more moments before he struck. Blue eyes glanced towards the large four poster bed and then back towards the man.

"Want to get comfortable?" Duo asked, trying to be as suggestive as possible.

"Aren't you eager?"

"Well, you've paid for the night with me, you don't want me to just raid the minibar, do you?"

Marlow laughed. "No, of course not."

He began to walk towards the bed, starting to loosen the tie around his neck as he did but noticed that Duo hadn't moved from his current position. He jumped onto the bed and patted a space next to him.

"Aren't you joining me?"

"Sure am," he said, placing the glass down and stalking towards the bed.

'Any minute now,' Duo thought as the other man's defences were completely down.

The older man reached out as he arrived at the bed, Duo deciding to stand in between the other man's spread legs rather than sit on the bed. Marlow had got rid of his shoes and Duo was conscious he was still in his boots as he'd needed access to his knife when he got to this point.

The kiss was something he'd wanted to entirely avoid as Marlow had leaned forward and it was rough, unyielding, demanding. He pushed the other man back whose eyes were heavy lidded.

"Back on the bed," Duo instructed.

"I thought it was whatever I wanted?"

"You're getting what you want."

Marlow raised his eyebrows but followed Duo's instructions, moving to lie back on the bed and removed some of the large pillows onto the floor. Duo leaned down to his boots taking them off and grabbed the serrated blade, holding it behind his back as he followed the other man to the bed. He straddled the body, feeling that Marlow was hard, ready, waiting for him.

"So what now, Max?"

"Do you remember a girl?"

"I thought we discussed that I wasn't interested in women…"

"No, you were interested in her. She was thirteen. She was loved."

Brown eyes widened suddenly as the conversation had changed. He struggled for a second but Duo pushed the man down to bed with his hands firmly and forcefully on Marlow's chest. It was then that Marlow realised that the young man above him despite being shorter and seemed weaker, was in fact stronger. And he also noticed that one hand held a large serrated blade.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm your nightmare," Duo said, twirling the blade in his hand.

"Who hired you?"

"Does it matter, Henry? You killed her. You beat her so hard that they found the imprint of your ring in her face and all over her body. But because you're a rich and influential asshole, they let you go, didn't they?"

"There was no evidence! No proof!"

"Isn't this proof?" Duo ran the knife over the man's face, making the shallowest of cuts, a slight amount of blood falling from the man's cheek. "You're terrified."

"I'm terrified because I assume you are about to kill me and I am fond of being alive."

"Did you think she was? She was thirteen, Henry… thirteen is too young to die. What was she called? Do you remember that?"

"Kristina Marshall."

"Good… maybe you have some fucking remorse."

"And will you have remorse for this… Max?"

"For you? No fucking way."

The stab straight through the heart was quick and with a lot of power. Duo had been doing this long enough to know how to do this and also the surprising amount of strength and pressure required. He left the knife there for a second and leaned back, seeing the last few moments of life as blood started to flow and pool over the hotel's sheets. He then grabbed his knife and then jumped off the bed, walking back towards the minibar and downed what he'd left of his whisky. Straight after the kill, there was an adrenalin but in a few seconds he'd be feeling as shitty as he always did so he hoped the alcohol might at least make him feel something.

He walked over to the large window and then grabbed his cell phone from his back pocket and dialled.

"You have reached the fountain of all knowledge and all that is awesome, speak mortal."

"Cypher… it's me."

"Is it done?"

"Yup… Henry Marlow has bled out on the bed of the Grand Royale."

"So you getting out of there, kiddo?"

Duo sighed. Cypher was only a few years older than him so he resented the kiddo thing. He'd always been kid or kiddo in his time being a Sweeper and had hated it then. He hated it now even more as a twenty six year old man but he let it slide.

"What did they want?"

"Huh?"

"Cypher, geez, you'd think you weren't used to doing this shit. What proof did they want?"

"The right hand ring finger."

"Makes sense."

"He doesn't happen to still wear the ring?"

"Nope."

"Shame. You could've taken that as well."

"Well, I'd love to chat Cypher but, you know, I've got a finger to remove and a scene to get outta."

"You got your com-jammer?"

"You think I'm an amateur?"

"Naw, Duo, you're just a cocky son of a bitch."

"Thanks but I gotta go."

"Check in when you're off L1."

"Will do, Cyph."

"Keep yourself outta trouble," Cypher said finally and Duo cut the call.

"Always try to but trouble always finds me," he said to himself.

Duo walked across the room to the body, his hands behind his head and looked at the body in front of him. This was the least fun part. He grabbed the hand and laid it out on the bed. It wasn't every job that wanted proof, sometimes they just wanted to know the person was dead but he'd known the Marshall family had wanted something tangible – a little bit of revenge for their beautiful girl. He got it. Vengeance and anger was powerful shit.

Cutting off a finger was no worse than a lot of things he'd done but it was still something he didn't enjoy doing. He made the cuts quickly and then thought about how to get it out of the room. He didn't intend putting a finger in his jeans pocket or leather jacket – instead he walked over to the empty whisky glass and put some ice from the ice bucket in before wrapping the whole thing up in a towel. It didn't look innocent but he didn't care. His com-jammer had cut the security cameras feed when he'd arrived at the Grand Royale. They now were showing nothing but snow and white noise and he knew the jammer was powerful enough to confuse the security company – at least for a little while.

He grabbed his leather jacket and was about to leave the room – not caring for any DNA evidence left or traces of him. Heero had made sure his DNA data was mysteriously corrupted every time and somehow Cypher managed to pay someone off somewhere to "lose" any relevant evidence of his kills but it didn't stop him from feeling unsettled as he looked at the body on the bed. Then his phone rang, the buzzing vibration in the back of his pocket insistent and annoying.

There were three people who had his number. One was Cypher who'd he'd just spoken to. The other was Heero and he sure as hell had no reason to speak to that asshole. The other, surprisingly even to him, was Trowa Barton. Out of all of the former Gundam pilots, Trowa was the one he knew least and until six months ago, he couldn't remember ever having a real conversation with. Quite simply, Duo never got Trowa Barton and assumed he never would. Until six months ago and a call had come through asking for some financial help for a lawyer. Understanding that Trowa couldn't go to Quatre and being pretty screwed up about his own large finances due to his less than legal occupation, Duo wired some cash after hearing the story about the nephew and a lengthy legal battle. After wiring the money, he didn't expect to hear from him again.

Until now. He glanced at his phone to see it was Trowa.

"Hey," he answered.

"Duo?"

"The one and only. What's up, Trowa?"

"I need help."

"Money? I can wire you –"

"Nabokov just tried to have Catherine killed and Eli kidnapped."

There was only one word that came out of Duo's mouth.

"Shit."

 


	3. Finding Duo

The truck was one of the circus vehicles that could be spared. Trowa glanced in the mirror to the back seat to see that Catherine had finally fallen asleep with Eli in her lap, her fingers wrapped in the boy's hair. He looked back to the dash to see the amount of miles he'd put between them and the circus location as he headed randomly further out of Prague. He'd not been tactical, he'd just picked a direction and started driving and would stop when he felt there was enough distance to make him feel at least somewhat secure. Now that Catherine was asleep, he slowed the truck down and started to find a dirt path or somewhere to pull up that would be inconspicuous and make a call. He shook his head ruefully, it felt like hiding Heavyarms though that had been considerably bigger and had needed more thought than the truck.

The call had waited. He didn't have time after he'd retrieved Eli and brought him back to the circus camp. A crowd had gathered of people in various degrees of disarray having being woken so suddenly as he emerged from the trees. Catherine ran towards him but stalled as she saw the figure in front of her. Eli's arms were very tight around Trowa's neck, small fingers clutching at the hair at the back of his head. The boy hadn't said a word as he walked deliberately out of the woods and Trowa didn't say anything either. Was he supposed to comfort the boy? How could he explain to a five year old that what he had done was completely necessary? How did he explain that he wasn't a cold hearted killer?

He'd said at the end of the war that he never wanted to kill again. He'd refused the Preventer offer for that reason – the so called peaceful organisation seemed to be built on a lie of pacifism while agents went out in the field armed with guns and licenses to kill. Heero and Duo had joined the Preventers and it had ended their tumultuous relationship - a testament to the strain that the organisation put on their agents. They'd left the Preventers long ago unable to continue within it after a disastrous mission in Rio. A mission Trowa only knew about after a broken Heero Yuy turned up at the circus, unable to look Duo in the eye anymore and in search of someone who would understand. Trowa couldn't understand but had offered a body and a bed. It was all he was able to do.

Trowa's hands were shaking slightly as he drove, his body a confused mix of adrenalin and endorphins. Catherine hadn't been able to look at him since he'd appeared from the woods. She'd taken Eli off him with fierce protective hands, cradling the boy and running her fingers over him and repeating words like "it's all okay" over and over again. Trowa knew how he looked. The blood and dirt had caked his skin and he felt the awful look in Catherine's eyes. She never wanted him to be that boy who had been unafraid of death, who maybe even welcomed it, that boy without fear or identity.

"Pack up," he'd said to her, simply.

He was trying not to cause a scene even as he knew the glances he received. The old circus performers knew the past of the former Gundam pilot and for them the fact that he had appeared covered in blood was less shocking than to the newer members who knew the quiet man who looked after the lions and did a solo trapeze act.

"Trowa…"

"Pack up."

He knew he was speaking to her harshly as he walked back into the camp, eyes trained on him, making him feel more than a little uncomfortable. Trowa had spent most of his life being no one, invisible and occasionally another person. He was the master of blending in, of being inconspicuous despite his height and physique.

"We leave tonight."

"But… Trowa! Eli's terrified!"

That wasn't difficult to see. Catherine had tears in her eyes and the boy's tight grip was now on his mother's arms, small hands tightly holding skin, afraid to let go. Green eyes looked to see the focus was all on them. He knew some of the newer performers had thought them a couple and that Eli was his own son – a mistake that got made frequently as it seemed very few people could coax a response from Eli and fewer could get more than three words from Trowa. It appeared like they were having a lovers tiff for the other performer's amusement. If not for the amount of blood that stained his clothes and the terrified child, it might have convinced some that they were.

He lowered his voice and moved closer to Catherine. He looked around at the people watching, thinking of any of the new performers. There wasn't a war and he no longer checked up on people to check their identities but he didn't like the way some of them looked at him. He tried to remind himself that he was covered in blood but Nabokov could easily infiltrate the circus. Old war time paranoia had resurfaced and all Trowa wanted to do was get moving  _now_ but Catherine's hesitancy was frustrating.

"Alexei just tried to have you killed. He tried to kidnap Eli. We need to get somewhere safe."

She blinked, processing the information. "And where's safe, Trowa?"

"Away from here," was all he could offer.

They'd packed up and gone, Trowa throwing away the t-shirt and shorts and washing away as much of the blood as possible. They didn't have time and he didn't shower. The blood felt rusty and cloying underneath his nails as he tapped the steering wheel, his head bowed as he looked down at the side of the road trying to find a location to stop for a break. His eyes were blurred and he was no longer safe to drive, the sun would be up in a few hours and he did not feel like stopping the vehicle in sunlight knowing that they should keep moving during the daylight hours. He found a dirt path that seemed to veer off into a forest and he abruptly turned the vehicle, he saw Catherine and Eli shift but they didn't stir. Sleep like that had been impossible for Trowa for years. He drove a little way off and then stopped the engine and for a moment leaned his head back in the seat rest, taking a deep breath. He wasn't sure where he was. He was unsure of what he was trying to achieve but all he wanted was distance. He undid his seatbelt and opened the trucks door as quietly as possible, jumping down and saw that Catherine had opened her eyes. Trowa nodded at her and she shut her eyes again.

The sky was clear as he walked a short distance from the truck and then got the phone from his pocket, he'd turned it off to retain battery power and waited as it buzzed into life. The signal should have been poor from this location but Trowa was raised to adapt things – he'd boosted the signal and tinkered with the thing as he could never guarantee where in the world he would be and whether he would need to make contact. It would seem strange to his war time self that he was contacting pilot 02. During the war, Duo was the one pilot he didn't really get opportunity to spend any time with and plus, his first impression had been that the Deathscythe pilot was loud and brash. Their personalities were perhaps far too different for a friendship and he had never made any attempt to make a connection with him.

After the war, he'd been with Quatre and Duo had been with Heero. They met up from time to time and socialised but there had been no opportunity to become friends during that period. Heero had been possessive of Duo and to say he had trust issues would have been playing down the way that relationship had worked. It had been like watching fireworks up close – they spent two years destroying each other in a volatile and violent relationship that concerned every person who ended up in the unfortunate position of seeing any kind of disagreement between them. After the mission in Rio, he'd known that Duo had disappeared and there was no knowledge of his movements after that.

It was six months ago that Trowa had first found Duo Maxwell again.

When Alexei made his first attempt to get custody of Eli, they'd sought legal counsel but the vast sum of money they needed was beyond the meagre wages they earned from the circus. They didn't need to earn money in the circus as food, transportation and housing was provided and subsidies for that were taken from their salaries. Trowa knew he could probably still hack into funds but was aware that he was living a normal legal life and plus he feared that if anything came back to him, Alexei could use it as more ammunition. The legal papers had featured a very damning report on his life and his potential mental health issues without anything new to add.

Instead, he needed people he could trust. Heero drifted and resurfaced occasionally but at this time he was impossible to locate with his computer skills that superseded all of them combined. Duo had disappeared. Quatre was easy to find but after their bitter break up, Trowa would not contact him unless he ran out of options. Wufei was a tenured professor and cut himself off from the former Gundam pilots. They had become scattered, lost to each other and themselves. It was with the knowledge of the other former pilots that he found himself attempting to find Duo Maxwell – the one who had tried to keep them together in the very beginning.

The first port of call had been Hilde Schbeiker but that had been pointless. She hadn't seen him for years and didn't appreciate his name being brought up – it seemed there was still bad blood between the pair. The second call had been somewhat more successful. The Sweepers had some knowledge and Howard had seen "the kid" two years previously which was the most recent contact that anyone seemed to have had with Duo. He'd needed a shuttle for some unknown reason – Howard didn't ask and Duo didn't tell. Howard hinted that whatever Duo was doing now it was a lot less than legal and he was living off grid. He moved around but drifted back to L2. Howard suggested that if he was to be found, that he would be found in the L2 cluster doing "something" and so Trowa started logically. Hacking into the shuttle port security feed.

Using facial recognition software, he got a match for Duo arriving back on L2 and froze the image. The former Deathscythe pilot hadn't changed dramatically in the eight years since they'd met. Braid still in place though hidden down the back of a jacket, baseball cap on his head, taller, filled out more – basic things that happened now that they weren't boys but men – but essentially Duo looked the same, just older. The next stage was trickier as he hacked into various cameras around L2 from the date he arrived onwards, tracking movements as best as he could. Most colonies had advanced surveillance systems, improved even more so after the wars and the paranoia of potential terrorists threats rising again. Unfortunately, L2 as the least reputable and least wealthy colony had a less advanced system so movements got lost once Duo left the main hub of the colony and went wherever he went. It seemed a frustrating job trying to track Duo down and he briefly thought about burying pride and contacting Quatre. The thought of going back to Quatre after the bitterness of their break up and asking for money horrified him enough to double his efforts of finding Duo.

A lucky break came when a particular camera was fixed outside the main nightclub and bar area and he managed to match the recognition software five times to one particular place. Then it was a case of getting a message to the bar owner to pass on to Duo. He wasn't aware if Duo was going by Duo Maxwell or an alias. His name popped up in databases prior to his disappearance and then vanished. He didn't travel, purchase things electronically or indeed, pay taxes, own bank accounts or have medical or life insurances. His Preventer file was marked closed and it was as Howard had said; he'd dropped off the grid.

Trowa sent a cryptic message via a confused bar owner who did know a man with a long braid. Least Duo had kept that distinctive feature.

**_/02 – Status?_ **

**_Old comm channel._ **

**_03./_ **

The old comm channels were heavily encrypted but were still working. Trowa routed it to his cell phone and waited. It seemed it didn't take long. The message had made Duo just as curious as Trowa had intended – perhaps for the same reasons Trowa himself found it weird that he was contacting him out of any of the other former Gundam pilots. They had no connection apart from fighting a war. They would never have been friends. They were too different.

And now he was contacting him again. He selected the details in his phone and waited, the slow process of finding satellites and patching through the call taking time. Duo was usually colony bound, he hated being "dirt side" as he called it and that had been a notorious thorn in the Yuy-Maxwell relationship. Heero wanted to live in Sanc. Duo wanted to live in the colonies. Heero got his way. From the best of Trowa's knowledge, Heero had always seemed to get his way but he understood that. He'd been in a relationship with a very domineering and controlling man just Quatre did so in an entirely different way than Heero. The click of the line connecting stopped his thoughts.

"Hey," a familiar voice answered.

"Duo?"

"The one and only. What's up, Trowa?"

"I need help."

"Money? I can wire you –"

"Nabokov just tried to have Catherine killed and Eli kidnapped."

"Shit."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Trowa didn't know what to say. He was a man of few words and he found phone conversations more challenging than vidphones. Least he could see the person then.

"Where are you?" Duo asked finally.

"We were outside Prague… I took a truck and left the circus."

"You think it could've been someone in the circus?"

"No… I don't know," he said, the weariness in his voice showing his lack of sleep, "they were mercs, Duo. Four mercs."

"Jesus. They get away?"

"No."

He heard a low chuckle. "Least that's one thing."

Trowa didn't think it was a laughing matter but the chuckle wasn't humorous. It was dark. Cold. Slightly chilling.

"I killed them in front of Eli. He saw."

He didn't know why he said it but he heard an intake of breath on the other end of the line. Maybe Duo would understand. He didn't honestly know. He didn't know him well enough.

"Tro'…you did the right thing. Mercs would've done much worse and, hell, you have no idea what'll happen if fucking Nabokov got his hands on the kid. Don't beat yourself up. We all got too much blood on our hands."

"I don't know where to go."

"Just keep moving – usual shit, Tro'. No credit cards. Dump cars. Disguise yourselves. Back roads, you know this, man."

"I know."

"Give me some time… I'll get you some fake ID docs and cash and I'll be dirt side in a couple of days. Hide yourself until then and I'll be in touch."

"Duo…"

"Trowa, don't say my name like that. You need help. He sent four mercs and he underestimated you. What the fuck is he going to next time? You need back up."

He wished he could just nod as he was finding the telephone conversation difficult. "Okay."

"Now just keep 'em safe. I'll be in touch as soon as I can get some shit done, 'kay?"

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet, Tro'."

The call disconnected and Trowa blinked at the phone in his hand. It seemed weird to him that Duo had just disconnected the call without anything else but then perhaps the braided man wasn't as talkative. The slang was still there, the swearing was still there but that cold laugh had been chilling.

He put the phone back in his pocket and pulled himself back into the truck to see Catherine's eyes open. Eli was still curled in her arms, his chest rising and falling in sleep.

"Who did you call?"

"Duo. He'll be here in a few days."

She let out a huffy breath. Trowa knew Catherine's opinions on the former Gundam pilots and while she could be nothing more than grateful for the money that the braided man had sent, she did not have to like any of them. They reminded her of a time when Trowa was nothing but ready to die. And she would never feel anything but hatred for Quatre Winner. Trowa may have got over the break up but Catherine hadn't. It had been like living with a zombie. Worse. Indeed, least a zombie tried to eat people rather than just mechanically move around. She never wanted Trowa to become like that again. Those other pilots were chaos and violence. She remembered Duo as the one who tried to persuade Trowa back into the fight – the one who was with Heero after. While she had no real reason to hate Duo Maxwell, she didn't like him by default but she tried not to say anything to her brother as she stroked the hair of her son.

The truck started again, rumbling underneath them, and Catherine sighed loudly. "Where are we going now, Trowa? You need to rest. You've driven through the night."

"We keep moving."

"Trowa…you are not a soldier anymore. You need to rest, please, Trowa, think of us. You are no use to us bleary eyed and sleep deprived."

His eyes met hers through the rear view mirror as he started reversing back the path. It was the first time she'd looked him in the eye since he'd snapped the mercs neck. There was that old sisterly concern there. He knew that Catherine wasn't his biological sister but he'd long since accepted that she was family. And the little boy was not blood but he was  _his_ to protect.

"We'll find a hotel," he offered, blandly.

"Good. You need to sleep, little brother."

He gave her a small smile through the mirror and she gave him a small one back. It meant that she was beginning to accept what he'd done. Trowa hadn't wanted to kill again but he was sure by the end of this, his hands would be covered in blood once again.

 


	4. No More Old Times

The shuttle port bar was a clean bright chain where tourists drank their first beers and businessmen spent the few minutes of respite drinking scotch. Duo didn't like chain places – he hated those restaurants that were the same whether you were on L5 or Honolulu and he hated bars like this. He liked dive bars with old fashioned juke boxes, he liked places with pool tables and thick dust and dirt and grimy beer glasses. He liked a world that was lived in, dirty as they were the sort of places he belonged. The bright lighting, the cheerful laminated cocktail menus and the presence of young bartenders in white polo shirts all felt wrong and fake. He fucking hated places like this.

There were two beers in front of him, the red and white label on his own had been peeled off as he waited feeling anxious. There were certain things he relied on in his chaotic and violent life. One of them was Heero Yuy's amazing dedication to punctuality and appearing when he needed him. That was Heero all over – steady, reassuringly unmovable, predictable. Maybe not this time.

Duo drank a little more beer and tried to stop himself from peeling the back label on the bottle. He'd heard it was a sign of sexual frustration, one of those urban myth things and then his mind turned back to Heero which usually happened when the thought of sex popped into his brain. It had been a while. He knew he should have just screwed Cypher instead of sleeping on his lumpy and uncomfortable couch. His neck was hurting from the awkward angle that he'd had to sleep. He'd grown taller in his late teens and his frame was not suited for sleeping on couches. But he hadn't being that he always felt Heero saw right through him – he'd judge him with cold blue eyes and an expression made of stone.

He'd stayed at Cypher's place last night – crashed in the warehouse with the metallic doors and the computer screens that covered one wall and given him the finger of a dead man to package up and send to earth. His life was surreal. The journey between L1 and L2 had been short due to the relative closeness between the two colony clusters but had been spent in a cargo hold. He'd made so many contacts in the criminal community over the years that he always had someone to pay off and hide him. Those times he didn't he used any number of fake ID documents and passed through shuttle ports undetected. He hadn't been just Duo Maxwell since he walked out of the apartment that he and Heero shared in Sanc after realising Heero wasn't coming back. Cypher was good enough to make him into anybody he wanted and was as near as he got to having a friend in his new life.

Cypher was a computer otaku, his large black framed geek glasses and hair with heavy bangs made him cute in a non-threatening way. Duo wasn't into submissive men. He seemed to always fall and fall hard for men who could be best described as aggressive. The worst they could be described as would be assholes. He had a thing for toxic and damaged men. He supposed that was the mark that Heero Yuy had left on his life.

Duo had got his own new fake ID docs, got Cypher to research Nabokov thoroughly and then Cypher had been working with his dirt-side contacts to get Trowa and "family" some reasonable quality ID's.

"They won't be as good as mine but, you know, they'll have to do."

"Guess so," Duo replied and went to shower as Cypher worked.

He got bored watching people on computers. He was a very competent hacker but Cypher was plugged in. He'd rarely seen the guy away from his wall of his computers and was constantly wired. Duo wondered if Cypher slept.

He'd showered, using Cypher's place like it was his own. He'd spent enough nights on the man's couch to know how the shower worked. Where he could find something to eat. He found energy bars – Cypher didn't do real food and plopped himself down on the couch.

"I can get someone to Prague to hand over ID docs and shuttle tickets," Cypher said.

"Someone good?"

"Not as good as I'd like but…"

"Can we trust them?" Duo asked, not looking up.

He was fiddling with the end of his braid. He was feeling hollow after the kill and weird about packing up his life to go help Trowa Barton. And also the inevitable thing he needed to do. Contacting Heero.

They'd agreed on the contact, the girl who called herself Lily which seemed a little too cutesy for Duo's liking and then he'd contacted Trowa. He was calmer this time. Duo had not thought he was the sort to get panicked but in their last brief phone call Trowa hadn't sounded like the man he used to know… he sounded scared. Anxious. Tired. Frustrated. Duo had never had a family to care about. The nearest he'd ever got to someone that he could consider as family was Heero. And that was a strange and messed up thought.

"You need to get to Prague, Tro'. We got a contact – she's gonna get you ID docs, some cash and plane tickets."

Duo explained the exact details of the rendezvous with the girl and the red flower she was going to wear in her black hair. They went through the next phases of the plan, the flight they were going to take and times, the rental car that would be waiting on the other side, the location where they would be safe and meet up with him. Trowa hadn't said anything but yeses and fines and okays during the conversation. The emotionless voice monotone.

"Look after yourself, Tro'. I'll be dirt-side soon."

Duo shook his head as he got no response and turned off his cell phone and borrowed one of Cypher's laptops to contact Heero.

Now he was waiting. He had finished his own beer and glanced to the one he'd bought for Heero. It could've been that he didn't get the message. Duo used his old 02 comm channel and encryption when he contacted Heero and he didn't know how Heero accessed his own comm channel. Usually, he heard from the former Wing pilot almost instantly after a message. A phone call on his cell. An email. A text message. Something. This time he'd got nothing but somehow he always expected Heero to just turn up.

"Mr Motherfucking Reliable," he swore under his breath as he decided to reach for the other beer. No point in wasting it.

He had no luggage with him for the flight. He didn't even carry a duffle bag like he had during the war. Just an olive green backpack that fitted in a few clothes, his newest fake ID from Cypher and the tablet computer that held all the information he had found about Trowa's situation and Alexei Nabokov. The only other thing apart from the wallet in his back pocket, the cell phone in the front one, was the key for the apartment in Sanc that he hadn't stepped foot in for seven years. Their apartment.

Least if Heero didn't turn up then he wouldn't have to talk to him about holding onto their one time home. It was one of his rare moments of deceit. It wasn't a lie as such as he'd not said anything to Heero. All he'd done was wired the money that would've equated to half the sale value and kept the place. He sometimes wasn't sure why he had. He had to pay the buildings maintenance fee and a cleaner who went in monthly. It seemed stupid. It was the only home he'd ever had.

He raised the bottle to his lips and nearly spluttered when a deep voice spoke softly behind him.

"Come here often?"

Duo turned to meet dark blue eyes and a handsome face, a slight smirk on the lips of his ex as he saw Duo nearly choke.

He coughed. "Yeah, just my sort of place."

"This seat taken?"

"No, make yourself comfortable, Heero."

He hopped onto the bar stool beside him and Duo noticed the duffle bag. His eyes scanned down Heero, taking in any differences since their last meeting. It was less than a year ago so there was no dramatic change in appearance. Still unbelievably attractive. Still deep blue eyes. Still worked out – muscles visible underneath the simple v neck knitted sweater. Duo decided to look away rather than check him out as he was never having sex with Heero again. He'd promised himself that.

"I bought you a beer," Duo said as he swirled the liquid around in the bottle, "but I thought you weren't gonna show so I'm drinking it."

"Still alcohol dependent?"

"Still a judgemental jerk?"

The kneejerk insults were easy for Duo. He'd spent a long time perfecting them and since Heero always intended to rile him, he had a long habit of sending back as many verbal barbs as he got. He shook his head and then took another sip.

"Let's not do this."

"This?"

"Our shit. We're done. Over. No more of this crap."

Heero nodded and the bartender came over. He ordered an orange juice and as it was a crappy chain bar he didn't get mocked by the shiny eyed kid who served him. Duo was tempted to make fun of him as he'd done during their relationship for his inability to let loose and just enjoy the freedom of inebriation but then Heero didn't want to lose control. There had been a few occasions - a legendary incident with a bottle of Wild Turkey but Heero didn't do relaxing. Didn't do letting his hair down. But he wasn't going to tease him as Duo had just said he didn't want to do  _this_  again. They were twenty six now – they really should stop acting like the hormonal and thick-headed teenage boys they'd been.

"I assume you have a reason for asking me here."

Duo nodded and fished in the front compartment of his backpack and slid over the shuttle ticket. Blue eyes studied it as Duo downed the rest of his second beer.

"Sanc?"

"Yup, Sanc."

"Elaborate."

He sighed at the stiff and mission sounding voice as he retrieved his tablet. He flicked it on quickly and brought up the relevant page and then passed it to Heero knowing he was a smart guy. He'd figure it out himself.

The first screen showed a passport picture.

"Eli Bloom."

"Did you know Trowa had a nephew?" Duo asked.

"I haven't spoken to Trowa for nearly eight years."

"Not since you fucked him, right?"

Heero shot a powerful glare at the comment. They'd never discussed what had happened immediately after their break up and Rio but Duo had been worried at the time. Heero was so… cold, closed, off the deep end and when he walked out one night after a meaningless and cold fuck, he'd worried that he was going to self-destruct. Heero didn't cover his footsteps like he did now – didn't spend his time electronically making himself a ghost and Duo had only needed to do some brief research to discover where Heero had gone – Germany. Then it had not taken much to find out that Trowa's circus was in that particular country and he'd put two and two together. Duo wasn't as blind and stupid as Heero thought. He'd known that they'd had their fling during the war after Heero's self-destruction and he never made a big deal out of it. He could have gone there with Quatre. He just didn't because blondie was too pure for his blood-stained hands. Or so he'd perceived at the time. It had taken him longer to realise Quatre wasn't the innocent little boy who wanted friendship.

Duo sometimes wondered how they'd all managed to fight a war with the amount of fucking each other they'd done – it all seemed far too complicated. Only Wufei had been above it all. Still was as he'd expressed that he didn't really want to see any of them anymore.

They didn't speak as Heero read the first screen. It was the official information. Eli Bloom. Born in Marseilles, France in the year AC 201 to Catherine Bloom. The box that said father was blank. Next of kin was Trowa Barton. Duo started fiddling with the label on the other beer bottle as Heero flicked to the next screen.

It featured many, many pictures from surveillance feeds of Eli Bloom with both his mother and his uncle. Trowa didn't look all that different – he was taller yet his body had filled out so that he was less lanky than during the wars. He seemed a little more casual, his clothes all seemed to have a faded, vintage quality but the ever-present bang of hair still covered the one eye. Eli was very much Catherine's son in appearance but even if the surveillance feeds there was a certain shyness about the boy that could be perceived. He hung back. He held onto hands of either Trowa and Catherine tightly. A little quiet boy – a boy like neither of them had been allowed to be. Heero flicked again and Duo glanced at the page as blue eyes absorbed the information.

"Alexei Nabokov – I assume the father?" Heero asked.

Duo nodded. "One father who just sent four mercs to kidnap Eli and kill Catherine. Makes you kinda grateful for the lack of family, don't it?"

Heero grunted.

Duo rolled his eyes. 'Always such an amazing conversationalist,' he thought.

The first page gave a very brief outline of who Nabokov was and a picture of the man in a black suit, his longish black hair slicked back off his face and finishing at the nape of his neck. Nabokov was thirty two and fabulously wealthy. The first bits of information were public record. He was an oligarch – a rich and influential new wave of Russian businessmen and had made his money in property. He was a self-made man having been raised in a one room apartment in St. Petersburg with three siblings and much was made of the "life-affirming" side to his story. He now owned an exclusive brand of vodka, an English soccer team and a stake in a basketball team in the NBA. He was a well-known philanthropist in his own country, giving generously to children's charities and helping young families. So far, so perfect.

It mentioned that he dated Hollywood starlets and supermodels but had never married and had no children. When Duo had first read the information when Trowa had contacted him six months, he didn't understand how the hell Catherine Bloom had met Alexei Nabokov, never mind had sex with him. It all seemed a little far-fetched. But the story went that the circus performed privately for one of Nabokov's niece's birthday parties and Catherine had been asked to meet the Russian businessman after the show. From there, Duo knew very little and had to ask Trowa whether it was a long term affair or a one night stand. He really didn't want to say something out of turn in front of Catherine Bloom. She had knives.

The further information was where it got interesting. Duo could see Heero had swiped through all the boring intel and had got to the juicy and illegal stuff that Cypher had dug up. Alexei was an arms dealer. He had links with the Russian mafia. He was a notorious womaniser. He had killed at least a handful of people. Put bluntly, he was a badass. And that had made Duo call Heero.

He hadn't intended to call Heero – to head down to earth and help Trowa out himself. He didn't know what or how he was going to help but he was going to just land dirt-side and work it out. He'd been known for his often chaotic and impulsive nature in the wars and he was good at improvising. But when he'd read this stuff… Duo knew that four mercs were just the beginning. Heero had finished reading the documents and he downed the orange juice making Duo snort under his breath.

"Ready to go save the day and help Tro' out?" Duo asked.

"Please tell me I am not sitting next to you on the shuttle."

"Naw, you're in an exit seat and I'm half way down the back of the shuttle. I know how much I irritate you in confined spaces."

"There were moments in confined spaces when you were less… irritating."

Duo noticed the feral spark in blue eyes even though it was brief. A feeling made its way through his skin, an electricity that ended in his stomach. He guessed he was referring to Peacemillion and the encounter in Deathscythe's cockpit. Hell, there were other confined spaces – Preventer interrogation rooms, shuttle bathrooms, a weapons supply closet… but defiling the memory of his buddy was the most memorable. He always wondered why they'd never fucked in Wing Zero and it was  _his_ Gundam that he had to clean cum off the control panels. It had always been at Heero's convenience their sexual history. A shiver went through his body and there was a moment that he thought he could just go "fuck it" and reach for Heero again. Do that again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. But no.

Instead of responding, Duo grabbed his bag and put away the tablet. They could go there. They'd gone there plenty of times since they'd officially broken up but it was rough, harsh, and the last time Duo had felt the hands around his throat that were too tight… he'd got the distinct impression that Heero might kill him. He'd screamed him out of the motel room that time and was determined not to have meaningless and mechanical sex with Heero again. Though his body was betraying him at least for a second. There was too much history between them. Over a decade of it. And Heero was, though he hated the sappiness of the statement, Duo's first love. They'd never been very good at the couple thing but they always had a twisted and toxic version of love between them. It never quite went away. Duo had come to conclusion it never would. In his own little way, he'd always love Heero Yuy and it showed how emotionally damaged he was.

"We should go to the shuttle gate."

"Lead the way, 'Ro."

As he grabbed his backpack, he smiled to himself. Yeah, it was a very good reason that they were not sitting anywhere near each other on the shuttle. They either spent their time fucking or fighting and right now there was no time for either when they had to help Trowa out.

Duo left a small tip and followed Heero out of the ugly chain bar to the shuttle gate.

'Time to go dirt-side.'

 


	5. Rendezvous

"Trowa, you can relax now."

He felt a hand on his own and felt an involuntary twitch of muscles at the feel of Catherine's hand – it was a natural jerky motion that came from not having enough sleep and being too on edge for too many consecutive days. The plane had taken off, the greyish tarmac and general gloominess of Prague had disappeared out of the small window and they had levelled off in the air.

Trowa knew, logically, that he should be able to relax now. He had no problems with air travel despite disliking not being in control – he knew that commercial pilots were well trained and he knew the stringent policies for recruitment among airline and space shuttle firms. His anxiety should have abated now they were on board and out of reach for the hour long flight to New Port City's air and shuttle port. It  _should_  have. It was unlikely that Nabokov could make any attempt to kidnap Eli on a European Airlines flight – a flight heading for Sanc, and that was what Catherine thought. But Trowa could still think like a terrorist when necessary and now was one of those times. Nabokov could have people aboard and they could just be waiting. Or he could just have a small team hijack the plane and blow it – but then he wanted Trowa and Catherine dead, not Eli and they were working on the assumption that the so called loving and caring father wouldn't want anything to happen to the boy.

It was difficult to feel relaxed as Trowa sat in the aisle seat, Catherine next to him and Eli at the window – an attempt to create a barrier, a first line of defence just in case there was anyone with ulterior motives as he spent his time calculating potential targets like he'd not done for years.

"Get some sleep," Catherine said gently.

"Yeah."

He agreed as it was getting frustrating to be in their current situation and the unbelievably close proximity. It seemed Catherine had finally allowed him such luxuries at privacy and space in the past few years, or at least, since her focus of maternal worry was now her son rather than her "little brother" but now they'd been too close for the last few days.

In tiny hotel rooms, places without security cameras and were happy to accept cash without another glance, in tiny, dirty cafes, in a series of cars that Trowa had dumped and obtained new ones without a thought for jimmying the lock and hot-wiring them. There were a lot of useful skills he'd learnt as a merc and stealing cars was one of them.

He closed his eyes and pushed his head back into the seat rest in an attempt to get comfortable and tried to block out the world around him. Eli was talking quietly alongside Catherine, Leo the imaginatively named stuffed lion was helping him colour in and for the first time in days he sounded like a little boy. Trowa had wanted to make a comment about Leo's, about mobile suits but despite Eli seeing him kill men, steal cars and be on guard at all times, Catherine still thought it was inappropriate for them to talk about Trowa's skills and past in front of the boy. So Leo the lion it was without any references to mobile suits.

They'd not brought any toys with them when they'd made their escape from the circus and once in the airport, the security of thousands of cameras and guards and too many people meant he was sure Nabokov couldn't try anything so they had relaxed for a short while. And that gave them an opportunity to treat Eli like the kid he was and let him pick whatever toys he wanted.

"The lion, please."

Confronted with a wide array of toys, remote controlled and loud and damn noisy things, Eli had picked a stuffed lion and for some reason the choice pained Trowa. He'd never had a home, no belonging except among those merc groups but Eli did. A very unconventional home that moved and a very strange selection of people but the circus had been home. It had been Trowa's home since leaving Quatre behind all those years ago and now they were running far from it all because of Nabokov.

He shifted in the airline seat, too small for his tall frame, and tried to sleep. The flight was short but he'd not truly slept since Catherine's scream woke him up in the flimsy tents of the circus so he needed it. He'd stayed awake in the hotel rooms, a gun across his lap and let Catherine and Eli sleep while his own nerves wouldn't let him catch more than a few moments when he could no longer resist the urge to close his eyes.

Trowa, like all of the Gundam pilots, could live for days without sleep or little sleep. Catching minutes in cockpits between battles had been a norm. The time aboard Peacemillion had been finding corners to sleep in and taking a few hours when possible between mobile doll attacks. Those memories were sharp and not conducive to sleep so he tried to forget being aboard Peacemillion, when he and Quatre had something – when he'd walked through the Gundam hanger to hear noises from Deathscythe Hell's cockpit and became aware enough of whatever was going on between Heero and Duo was happening as he could hear moans, groans and muffled voices through an open Gundam hatch.

A feeling had rose in his stomach at hearing those noises – knowing that he and Heero had once… but that was a long time ago, Trowa thought now. A lot had happened since then, the relationship between himself and Quatre that had failed. Heero and Duo had walked away from one another. Heero walking into the circus after that holding all the possessions he'd taken from the life he'd formed with Duo in a backpack and wanting something that Trowa could never give him. And they'd kissed hard and it had meant something and nothing at the same time.

It was so long since those days. He'd not seen Heero for eight years. Duo for longer. Not been the five of them since last time he'd been in Sanc. The circus didn't go to Sanc - the permits and restrictive laws on travelling entertainment and fees meant that Ring Master avoided the Kingdom so it felt strange, odd, to be travelling towards it. The beacon of peace and hope – rebuilt and renewed.

The last time he'd been in Sanc, there had been some reunion event, a year after the Eve War and they'd stayed at the apartment that they would be heading towards once they landed. It had made Trowa raise an eyebrow when he'd seen the rendezvous location – a familiar address on a familiar street. It surprised him that Duo still owned the apartment that he had shared with Heero when they'd settled down and first worked for the Preventers. It seemed like holding onto a life that was now long gone – a life they could've had. Trowa had eliminated all ties to Quatre. Didn't answer calls, changed his number, dedicated the rest of his life to the circus and the performances, the maintenance of the jeeps and trucks, the animals and forgot the past. As he moved in his seat, looking cautiously around the cabin through one green eye open to a slit, he realised he'd never quite forgotten.

That night had shown the cracks between the five of them. He and Quatre had barely spoken to each other. Duo had got drunk and annoyed Heero. Wufei had wisely decided to avoid their squabbles – already starting to distance himself before his big statement that he did not wanted to be reminded about the war and was off to teach at a university in Beijing. And Trowa remembered being in the spare room of Heero and Duo's apartment, alone and drunk as Quatre had spent all the event being the social butterfly, networking and showing Trowa that he had outgrown him – that he did not need him. So Trowa had stood at the corner of the room and steadily drank more of the passing champagne until it was decided they all needed to leave and he went to bed thinking how Quatre had changed. How  _they_  had changed. How they weren't the same boys that had fought a war.

Quatre had needed him in the war, big blue eyes pleading and asking him to make him forget the blood and the bodies and his guilt. He'd responded - raining kisses over jaw and soft skin and running fingers through blond hair. And it was ironic or something that Quatre begged Trowa to make him forget when it was he who did forget.

But then, he was left on the bed in the dark spare room, listening, and being talked about and he knew Duo was drunker than he was but was not in bed yet. Or maybe he was a different kind of drunk. Not sombre. Not even more silent.

And there was that argument between the three awake former pilots and he heard those words.

"You gotta tell him, Quatre! You can't just keep him around while you're meant to be marrying some chick! It ain't fucking fair."

He'd sat up the darkness, his head swimming as he did so, and thought about getting up and saying something – he'd known that Quatre was getting pressure from the family and the company. Knew it but didn't realise it was that strong or that maybe Quatre had consented to something. Maybe creating distance to make it easier, to make the final break easier but somehow even lying in a darkened room, alone, it didn't feel easier.

The voices decreased in volume and he could hear the more muffled sound of a deeper voice – Heero's but then a voice increased in volume again.

"Don't shit around! I'd  _die_ if Heero left me!"

The words were melodramatic and he didn't hear much else. His body clock told him ten minutes passed when Quatre finally opened the door to the darkened room, light hitting the bed but he turned and pretended to sleep and listened to the rumblings of whatever argument between Heero and Duo was going on in the room next door.

"Trowa?"

He'd heard Quatre speak, quiet, concerned – like the boy that he'd maybe, stupidly, fallen in love with during a war but he'd remained silent and kept his breathing quiet. Done this as a child, making sure that some of the men thought he was sleeping so that they would leave him alone and it deceived even the empath. He heard clothing being shed in the darkness, the suit, dropping to the floor and the sudden depression in the bed of another body laying down but Quatre didn't move towards him like he had in the past – proof again that Trowa had fulfilled his purpose and they slept at opposite sides of the bed as much space between them as possible.

They heard the argument stop in the other room, other noises replacing those – creaking of the bed, quiet grunts and moans as though there was an attempt to think of the guests on the other side of the wall who slept in the same bed but were so far apart from one another.

They'd not lasted long after that. A few months but Trowa knew that he was better to walk away. Return to Catherine. And Heero and Duo hadn't lasted much longer either. All far too young and far too damaged by wars and violence to work out.

"Ladies and gentleman, we are beginning our descent into New Port City, so please secure all seat belts and replace all tray tables to their upright positions. Thank you for flying European Air."

The announcement over the system brought him back entirely to the present. They weren't those boys pretending to be men anymore – they were men, ten years since the last war and there was something more serious going on than the complicated relationships they'd had with each other. Trowa stirred in his seat which alerted Catherine to the fact he was awake, not that he'd really slept, only drifted on the edges and thought about the past. Eli was staring out of the small window, explaining to the lion how they were landing as the first sight of New Port City appeared from the window.

"Did you sleep?"

"Yeah."

It was better to lie to her and say he had. She'd only start telling him he shouldn't drive when they landed and he sure as hell was not going to use a cab or let Catherine drive. He'd drive. There was no giving away control now.

Her hand gripped his forearm and he met her eyes fully.

"We'll be safe in Sanc?"

He nodded in an attempt to be reassuring. He didn't think they'd truly be safe in Sanc but Duo was back up and two former Gundam pilots would be better than one. The only way he saw them being safe was if Nabokov was dead and he didn't need to tell Catherine his thoughts on that. He'd talk to Duo. Someone with a more flexible view on morality. Someone like him. Catherine didn't need to know his thoughts – the thoughts of ending a man's life with his bare hands – things he hadn't done for years until those mercs as he'd thought he'd left those things behind.

"And we can trust Duo?" Catherine asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "You barely know him."

Trowa frowned. He hadn't contemplated whether he actually trusted Duo. He just assumed he did. It was true that they didn't know each other well but that didn't matter. He was a Gundam pilot. Quatre had trusted him. Heero had been his lover. Those two he had trusted so he went along with their judgement of the former Deathscythe pilot. He thought shrugging would be an unwelcome gesture so he just spoke quietly.

"Yeah."

This seemed enough for Catherine who turned back towards Eli and leaving Trowa to think as the plane began its final descent. Duo had come through for them without question – arranged the meeting in Prague, got the plane tickets, the fake IDs, the rental car on the other side and done more than he should, given up his own life, whatever the hell his current occupation was, and was willing to help. He had to trust Duo. Because if he didn't… there was no one but him to protect Eli.

The landing was smooth and thankfully the passengers who took this flight were hardened travellers rather than tourists. There was no clapping at the smooth landing – Trowa had never understood why people did that – it was the pilot's job, therefore, they were competent. They didn't need clapping for performing such a simple task - it wasn't like a circus performance which was for entertainment. Trowa grabbed their belongings from the overhead lockers and made them wait for a while as other travellers departed so that he could see any suspicious activity though the waiting made Catherine impatient and Eli even more so.

Finally, they left the plane and entered the airport, travelling through customs and immigration with little hassle, pretending they were a family. They carried only hand luggage with them to avoid the trauma of luggage conveyer belts. They'd dumped everything prior to boarding that was unnecessary including Trowa's gun and knife – he felt naked without them, more vulnerable than ever without a weapon but he knew that Duo would have weapons – if his occupation wasn't legal, access to firearms was a given.

His skin prickled as they walked through and Trowa had the distinct impression they were being observed but it could be paranoia – the paranoia of a man without enough sleep. Catherine was right in some ways. It was not good for him to be like this. Wired. Living off adrenaline and caffeine.

The rental car line wasn't as easy as customs and immigration, the staff slow and rude, testing Trowa's patience and his anxiety level. Catherine ended up having to speak because Trowa was sure he may have tried to kill the guy behind the counter, grab him by his cheap white collared shirt and strangle him with his own tie. Mercifully, the drive wasn't long to the apartment complex, centrally located, supposed to be convenient to the Preventer Field Office and the government buildings.

They pulled up, the building old and red brick, rebuilt and remodelled into an apartment complex after the whole rebuilding of the Kingdom project and Trowa saw the figure waiting, leaning against the wall, casual and easily missed. His clothing predominantly black apart from the white collar of his jacket, the braid was pushed down the back of that jacket so that the distinctive feature was not visible and for all the world he looked completely unremarkable. A young man casually leaning against a wall minding his own business. But he wasn't. Trowa knew that.

Duo nodded and another man slipped from the shadows, unfamiliar as Duo walked towards the car, motioning that they should get out rather than park up. Trowa pressed the button to open the windows and Duo leaned in to speak.

"I gotta guy to clean the car and taking it back so you guys just need to get inside, 'kay?"

Clean the car. It probably meant taking the prints off it or it could mean torching it for all Trowa knew – that would effectively remove any traces of DNA or identity. He supposed all the ID documentation he'd used to collect the car had been entirely falsified so that it shouldn't trace back so he nodded, getting out and handing the keys to a young man who took them without any words to Trowa but he did look back at Duo.

"Half before the job. Half after. You know the fucking rules – Cypher told ya when you took the job."

His voice had been quiet, quiet enough that Catherine hadn't heard as she fussed over getting Eli out of the car along with Leo and the little amounts of possessions they had. Trowa would have to warn Duo about a hell of a lot – no mentioning the war, no swearing and don't bring up the more serious side of Nabokov. But it would have to wait as Trowa wanted to be inside, feeling exposed even in the heart of the world's most famous pacifist nation and heading into the home of two former terrorists.

Eli looked cautiously at Duo and seemed unwilling to move, clutching onto Catherine as the rental car pulled away. It was true that Eli wasn't the most outgoing of kids but it was unusual for him to act so clingy to Catherine.

"Hey, you must Eli."

Duo seemed to know something about kids. Knelt down on the side walk so that he wasn't as tall in comparison, less adult and less intimidating, a reassuringly wide smile on his face.

"I'm Duo… your Uncle Trowa told me a lot about you."

It wasn't a lie, exactly, but really only Trowa had told him was that Eli was five and his dad was a uncaring and dangerous bastard but it seemed to work a little as Eli glanced towards Trowa who nodded to confirm Duo's story and show that the strange man could be trusted. He supposed it was a well-founded fear of strangers since the kidnap attempt.

"You're gonna stay with me for a while and I'm gonna help out your Uncle Tro'. That okay?"

The boy looked at his mother who gave him a smile.

"Okay," the boy said finally.

"Cool! I'm sure I got some toys and some cartoons or something in the apartment, you wanna see?"

Eli nodded with more enthusiasm and held Leo tight.

"Then follow me to the grand tour of the Casa del Maxwell!"

The grand tour was nothing more than arriving at the third floor to a pretty standard but bare apartment. Two bedrooms. The only thing that betrayed the situation was a desk set up in the living area with two laptops showing security feeds from locations both within and outside the apartment. It was high end gear as Trowa could barely see the cameras despite being able to determine the angles from the images on the screens. Duo had shown Catherine and Eli to the master bedroom, leaving Trowa to lean against a grey couch and not be assaulted by the memory of the last time he was in the place. Couldn't imagine what it was like to be Duo and have so many memories here…

"You look like shit Tro'," Duo said, as he'd returned minus Eli and Catherine.

"Thanks," he responded, dryly.

"Well, you know me, brutal honesty and all."

In his tired state, Trowa had no response but couldn't help a small smile curving his lips – over eight years since he'd seen Duo in the flesh and this was their first conversation face to face. There was something funny about it if he thought about it but right now he was too damned tired.

"Take the spare room," Duo continued. "Get some sleep before you fucking crash. I got this. Ain't anyone getting through me."

Finally, Trowa agreed to sleep, reassured that with Duo here there was another line of defence for Eli and he could finally try and get some rest.

 


	6. The Pact

The apartment was quiet and Duo sat with his feet up on the desk by the laptops with security feeds running. He was sure Heero would bitch about his boots being in the same vicinity as the expensive equipment but Heero was on the roof and wasn't in the apartment.

"'Ro, status report, over?"

"No activity, over."

"You want some coffee, over?"

"No, over."

"Do we have to do the over shit, over?"

He got a slight grunt, a thing that indicated Heero found him amusing and that in his own tiny way he appreciated Duo's humour. Not that he would actually laugh at a joke – Heero's laugh was a rare thing and mainly maniacal.

"No."

"I can swap, you know, you can have the feeds and I'll sit up there with the sniper rifle."

The response was terse. "I'm fine, Duo."

"Fine, freeze your balls off up there for all I care."

That signalled the end of the conversation. They were being cordial. More than that, they were being vaguely friendly towards one another but it was difficult being in close proximity. Too much shit and in this apartment... that just made it a hell of a lot worse.

Heero had not said much when they arrived. Looked around to see it was like it had been when he'd left and then ignored the whole emotional issue of this being their apartment. The apartment they'd shared when they were still a couple who worked together and lived together and fucked. It was all a lifetime ago. He just started putting up the surveillance equipment leaving Duo to check the rooms, open windows to let in fresh air and turn on appliances. There was not much to say – this had been their apartment. A few bottles of alcohol in a cupboard that Duo examined – thinking he might need it with spending time around Heero – and that was it. Duo had removed all the identifiers of their life after Heero didn't come back. And he knew he shouldn't have kept the place – drained him financially, not that it mattered being that the killing people business generally paid pretty well, but he shouldn't have held onto this place as it wasn't a home. It was a mausoleum to a fucked up relationship. Empty. Cold. And full of regret.

He'd left Heero to his set up – wondered how the hell Heero got all the shit he did. His contacts were better than Duo's – better than Cypher though he wouldn't tell the dude that. He was surprised that Heero wasn't walking around in Kevlar body armour and in full black ops gear. Duo had retraced his steps around Sanc, finding the grocery store and buying essentials and feeling like the chick in the situation but he stopped on the toy aisle and figured that Eli was a kid and kids liked toys. He stopped and saw tiny little mobile suit replicas and action figures of some cartoon characters he didn't know and picked them up. It proved he was still a nice guy somewhere underneath the whole hit man thing.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the communicator crackled again.

"I'm coming down."

"'Kay."

Duo knew why he was coming down now – Heero had probably calculated that everyone was asleep and he was maintaining distance not just from him but from everybody in the damn apartment. Trowa didn't even know Heero was here – hell, Catherine and Eli didn't as it seemed that Heero found it easier being on the roof than actually being in an apartment with an ex, a man he'd slept with, a woman who'd thrown knives at him and a kid. For Heero this was his own personal hell – complicated interpersonal relationships. And a child. Duo knew that kids had always been an issue – supposed that was the fun of not having ever been allowed to be one – that Heero just didn't understand miniature human beings and saw them as an alien species. When they'd been together, he'd gently teased and cajoled him into speaking to colleague's children but that was a long time ago. Duo really wasn't sure how he'd react to Eli. Yes, Eli was quiet and had been well behaved and just sat in front of a cartoon but he was still a kid.

The door opened, proceeded by a rhythmic knock to confirm to Duo that it was not an enemy – but then, he was sure even if Nabokov scrambled the feeds or hid so damn well in the five minutes it took for Heero to be down the stairs to the third floor they would just burst through the doors so the warning seemed stupid. Old war time paranoia resurfacing. It seemed strange to be thinking in terms of enemies again.

Heero entered the apartment, scanned it with methodical precision and then walked to the kitchen without a second glance towards Duo.

'Charming,' Duo thought but figured it was probably better that way. Maintaining distance and all.

As the screens had shown nothing more interesting than a drunk chick a few hours ago who had been dropped off in a cab and had issues with both walking in heels and the tight dress she was wearing, Duo got up, for some reason snagged his gun from the desk top, and joined Heero in the kitchen.

He leaned against the door for a second before entering. Apartments in Sanc were generally of the European model and the housing was expensive. The kitchen was a separate room, tiny and not somewhere two people could be in comfortably without touching and for a second Duo wondered why'd he'd followed but then as he watched Heero's careful precise movements around the small space, he guess he knew. He figured they needed to talk despite Heero's usual reticence at such things.

"There's only shit coffee," he said, closing the door a little and jumping up onto the counter as he'd have done when he was seventeen and this was their place.

He'd only bought necessities when he'd gone to the store or things he figured a kid liked. Chocolate cereal. Coffee. Milk. Bread. Cheese. Eggs. Nothing exciting but shit if he knew how long they'd be cooped up in the apartment and he needed to talk to Trowa before they worked out the duration of the stay.

He watched Heero move around the confined space, his careful movements as he spooned cheap coffee granules into a mug, recently rinsed to get rid of the dust that had collected, and then poured the boiling water from the kettle. The normality of the moment seemed out of step and weird. The things that Duo had just left, the everyday things, being used again after years of apartment being unattended apart from the cleaning company who checked it monthly.

The small space meant that there was little room between them as Heero turned and leaned, holding the coffee cup in his hand, cradled as though to warm him.

"You kept this place."

"Wondered how long it was gonna take ya to say somethin'."

Heero grunted and took a sip of the coffee which would still be too hot and looked around the familiar room. He never bothered with milk in his coffee – took it black. Strange the things Duo remembered.

There was nothing left that identified the apartment as their place – the appliances and glasses and plates were all things they'd had to buy as that was required and Duo had left them – thinking maybe, one day, he'd come back for some fucked up reason. But the fridge door had no images on it like Duo had put there when they'd lived in the space – no stupid mobile suit shaped fridge magnets – and the plant that had managed to survive that had lived on the windowsill had been thrown in the trash. Duo wondered if memories of the place assaulted Heero like they did him – painting the walls, lazy Sundays in bed, cooking in the space with some success and regular sex without anger and aggression.

"Why?"

Duo looked up and realised he'd been a million miles away. Or maybe not, just a million years ago. He refocused his eyes on Heero whose eyes were carefully avoiding his.

"Huh?"

Heero rolled his eyes impatiently. "Why did you keep this place?"

"That's the million dollar question, ain't it?"

"You thought we'd…" Heero's voice drifted.

Duo figured he wanted to say "get back together" or "settle back down" or hell "become room mates with the added benefit of fucking" but Heero didn't complete his sentence. Took another sip of the coffee and put the mug down on the counter.

"Hell no, 'Ro. I figured the day you went and fucked Tro kinda burnt the bridge for normal relationship shit. And our fucking the last few years was getting to the point where one of us was gonna end up dead so, no, this ain't some screwed up love letter to you. We don't exist anymore."

"Then why?"

"I wanted a property portfolio," Duo said with a shrug and a smirk.

They stood in silence but Heero didn't move – Duo expected him to drink the coffee and go back to the roof – he was about to suggest that he should eat but he figured Heero probably had a supply of power bars or other nutritionally balanced but tasteless shit that meant he could maintain his post with minimal trips down to the apartment but then other words slipped out of his mouth. He decided it was just the place. The memoires that clung to the walls despite the fact Duo thought he'd stripped any meaning from the apartment – anything that related to a relationship that ended with them unable to even look each other in the eye.

"You ever gonna forgive me for Rio?"

"I already forgave you," Heero said, his words slow and deliberate. "I just never could forgive myself."

"You forgave me?"

Heero nodded, stormy blue eyes meeting Duo's for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"I just couldn't look at you after that… see that look in your eyes. It's all I could see."

"I didn't blame you."

"I wish you had."

Duo laughed, the harshness of it startling even himself – too bitter. "Shit. Think we should've talked about this eight fucking years ago."

They stayed silent for a few minutes – Duo stared at his boots rather than Heero or the surroundings and tried not to think about Rio. The sound of gunfire and the smell of explosives and the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that meant failure…

"You said you'd die if I left you," Heero stated.

"Yeah, I remember that," he replied in a beat despite the slight surprise at the words, "what can I say? I was eighteen and drunk… and being a melodramatic ass."

"You changed… after."

"Easier that way, 'Ro. Just couldn't be him anymore, you know?"

Heero picked up the coffee cup, finished drinking it and then walked to the sink to rinse it out, the size of kitchen forcing his body to brush past Duo's legs as he did. It was clear that was the conversation was over and that he would return to the roof where he would be more comfortable – alone and away from anything that was difficult to deal with emotionally. The small task done, the mug left on the drainer, Heero walked past again, that contact still creating some sort of reaction that Duo couldn't deny and this was the most they'd talked about shit that meant anything for years.

"You know I still love you," he said both regretting the words and not. Had to be said.

Heero stopped on the threshold of the doorway at Duo's words, his shoulders slumped and he didn't turn to look back, only spoke quietly, words barely above a whisper in the silence of the kitchen.

"I love you but one day I'd kill you."

And Heero left the room, leaving Duo sitting on the counter looking down at the tile feeling like a part of his stomach had just dropped out – it was fucked, them, the situation they were in – everything. Every instinct told him to run – just to walk out of the apartment and remember that he'd spent the last eight years running from this. A life he'd tried to have that was normal and functional – maybe being a hit man was all he could be and he was better just running back to L2 and sitting with Cypher and taking whatever job paid the highest rather than be here. But he'd promised Trowa – promised that he'd help that kid who'd sat in front of some cartoon and quietly hugged a lion toy and he couldn't walk away from that. Not when some asshole wanted to do god knows what to that kid. It made him shiver.

He was about to return to his post and the feeds when the silence of the apartment was broken and Duo instinctively reached for the gun in his pocket. He hopped down and positioned himself into a more battle ready stance. It didn't matter that logic told him who was moving about, it was better to be prepared and Trowa walked too damn quiet for a man of that height and build. He'd not spent a lot of time around Trowa but knew he was a sneaky bastard, probably as sneaky as he was, and he walked with eerily silent footfalls. Duo could calculate size and the potential target from people's steps but Trowa walked more gracefully than a man like he should. It was disconcerting.

The figure appeared at the open doorway and Duo lowered his weapon, securing it back in his pocket, the safety back on.

"You done sleeping?" Duo asked, his voice oddly strained as he tried to sound light-hearted.

Duo blinked as his gaze landed fully on Trowa, dressed only in black shorts, hair mussed. He realised he was probably damn staring but Trowa was all muscle, more so than Heero, broader, paler and more defined. A few scars littered his body as they all had – old and new. Old from the wars. New could be from him being in the circus. The whole concept of Trowa being in the circus still made Duo want to chuckle – it just seemed totally weird to know someone who did actually run away with the circus.

"I heard," he began and then faltered, seemingly unsure of what to say next.

The braided man just nodded. "You heard me and Heero?"

"I didn't intend to."

Duo shrugged. They hadn't been talking loudly but then Trowa was probably like all of them – learnt to pick up sounds more acutely than was natural, whatever drugs given to them by their respective doctors enhancing some of their senses. Stuff that had never truly worn off despite the years since the war and training. Things that were never unlearned. Natural as breathing to them.

"Don't worry, buddy, it's ancient history and all. And I totally never had any problem with you and Heero… you know."

He knew he'd usually be cruder and just say fucking but Duo could remember sharing a total of something like five conversations with Trowa and was censoring himself ever so slightly. He'd been doing it all day with the kid around.

"I didn't realise he was here."

"Yeah, well, he's hiding on the roof as that's easier for him, like, it means he doesn't have to spend time around two men he's slept with and he don't do well with kids." He stopped and gave a lopsided smile that wasn't particularly friendly. "And I thought we need him, you know, if Nabokov is gonna try and kidnap Eli again… I think between the three of us he won't have a chance."

He didn't add anything else to that – that both he and Heero would and could kill if Nabokov tried. Duo had no morals about killing some men sent to kidnap a little boy even though he was aware Trowa was struggling with killing those mercs – or more that he'd killed them in front of Eli.

Trowa's face was hard to read and Dup looked away, scanning the kitchen, giving him space. He may not have said anything much but the whole way Trowa stood showed that he was uncomfortable about the entire situation and staring at him didn't help. Despite the fact it was ever so distracting when the guy was that built and shirtless. It was bad for his brain to appreciate that considering the conversation he'd just had with Heero so he diverted his attention to the coffee mug on the drainer, the fridge door, something else.

"I meant to say thanks," Trowa said, finally.

"Hey, Tro, don't worry 'bout it. You asked. I came – I seriously had nothin' better to do. Just be waiting between jobs."

There was no point in elaborating about his jobs so he didn't. Trowa probably already knew what he did was illegal – no one has that amount of available cash at their finger tips legitimately. Unless you were Quatre but that was not someone who Duo would mention in front of Trowa. He didn't know enough about how that relationship had ended but he figured it wasn't pretty.

"You didn't have to."

"Yeah, but I wanted to. Eli's a good kid. He don't need some bullshit dad who didn't want him for the first five fucking years – he needs his mom and you. Not whatever the hell Nabokov wants for him."

They stood in silence until Trowa spoke again, his words slow but the intention behind them clear. "I want him dead."

Blue eyes met green then and Duo looked straight at his face. There was a grim determination there – that look that all of them had before battle. Remembered it from Peacemillion, the only place he'd truly spent any time around the former Heavyarms pilot and there was that look that they all had in those days – waiting for battle, knowing what they had to do and knowing that they could die but not caring. There was also that spark, that thing that maybe Wufei and Quatre had moved on from – but Duo hadn't. Heero hadn't and despite Trowa's initial feelings towards killing for the first time since the war, it was obvious that he hadn't either. That spark that came from the power of life over death and the fire that came from the fight.

"Then we'll work out a way to kill him," Duo said, simply.

It felt like a pact in the middle of the night – in a tiny kitchen in Sanc – and Duo knew it would be the start of a bloody and violent road.


	7. Secrets Revealed

Waking up in a strange room was not that disorientating. Trowa had spent so much of his life moving that he was used to waking up in a different place every few days. Never having had a concept of home, it didn't matter that he moved from any location quickly and found himself in another country, another town, another place entirely. But now he was disorientated, his head throbbed as he sat up in a strange bed and then figured out the events that had preceded it. Duo was going to pay.

The alcohol shouldn't have done that much – Duo had brought it out after Trowa's revelation that he wanted Nabokov dead and he didn't care how it was done. He didn't care if it was violent or bloody or damn nasty. It was all about ensuring that he could never touch Eli, who had been sleeping down the hall with his mother soundly for the first time in days. The grogginess was entirely alcohol induced and he almost wanted to laugh at how pathetic he'd become. He used to have a very high threshold but then he'd spent years travelling with the circus and that time did not facilitate drinking to excess like his time in mercenary groups and working with engineers on L3 building Heavyarms. Maybe he just shouldn't have accepted alcohol from Duo – it was probably stronger than anything he usually consumed and he hadn't really paid attention to the quantities that were being poured. On sitting up in the small room, his headache only increased and he looked around the room he'd last slept in when he was still with Quatre and the whole situation made him even more disorientated. Taking him back eight years. He swore to not damn drink with Duo again.

He glanced to the clock next to the bed and saw that at least he'd not been out for too damn long. It was only 8.04 a.m. Trowa dressed, throwing on jeans and a clean t-shirt, and went in search of breakfast to placate the slight nauseous feeling in his stomach. As he left the room, he thought about the conversations of last night.

Maybe he'd needed the alcohol and maybe Duo knew that. That he wasn't used to being in Duo's company and he could count the conversations he'd had with him on one hand. It wasn't due to any feelings of dislike on either of their parts, it was just… they'd never had opportunity to connect. Last night he'd found that Duo was perhaps different than the boy he'd remembered. Or maybe he'd just never known the boy he'd been. His memories of Duo were all around Peacemillion when things were hazy anyway, his amnesia and the heat of battle warping anything that he could define as a memory into something indistinct. He remembered the noises from Deathscythe's cockpit with embarrassment, that really his only memories of Duo revolved around the fact that he was having sex with Heero rather than anything else. His only other memory that was clear was holding him and pushing him into the cell on L3-X18999 after Heero's sucker punch and how much he'd felt like a ragdoll in his arms. How someone so proud and bright eyed and trusting had been overpowered and betrayed. It wasn't a memory that he felt comfortable revisiting.

Then anything that had happened post-war was blinded by memories of Quatre and his presence in those moments. And he was even less comfortable thinking about that.

It had been a sombre conversation, Duo sharing all the information that his contact had managed to uncover and Trowa added in anything else he knew. That Nabokov's main residence was located in the countryside out of Moscow but was a large and imposing building that would be difficult to infiltrate.

Duo had raised his eyebrows. "You really don't know what I've been doin' the last eight years if ya think  _that_ will be a problem."

Trowa had taken a sip of his drink as Duo explained his current occupation and it made sense why he'd dropped off the grid.

"You're a hit man," Trowa said bluntly.

"I'm employed to get rid of problems," Duo clarified. "Sometimes that involves killing people. I take the jobs I get offered."

He'd wanted to ask why. That after all they'd fought for, all the death that they'd caused, all the things that they'd seen that Duo had ended up killing for money. He thought he preferred the ideas he'd harboured before – that yeah, he knew Duo was a criminal at the very least but he'd figured something less bloody. Smuggling maybe. Gun running. Drugs even.

"And Heero?"

Duo had shrugged overly dramatically and sighed. "Heero does whatever the fuck Heero does. He keeps my ass outta trouble electronically and I give him a percentage of my work but that ain't all he does. Never figured out what else he's doing. Sometimes I think he must be all working for the Princess in some kinda On Her Majesty's Secret Service bullshit thing. Fuck knows."

There had been awkward silence then, Trowa remembered, downing what remained in his glass as he observed Duo, the way his eyes were harder.

"Look… you want him dead, right? Then you called the right people. I won't work on anything else until that fucker's dead."

"You know I can't pay you."

Duo laughed at him and this time it actually sounded like there was a hint of humour there. "Yeah, I'd call you my charity case but instead let's just say I'm doing this pro-bono. A good deed for my shitty karma. I don't expect any of the cash back, ya know. Just felt right to help you out."

The conversation, though hazy due to the hangover, was clear enough and he remembered that they would make a plan in the morning with Heero of how to deal with Nabokov. It wasn't the most fun thought to wake up to – thinking like a soldier again, thinking strategy and how to defeat the enemy. It had been ten years since he'd thought like that. Yet he knew those instincts were still there. After all, those ragtag mercenaries were dead on the floor of a forest.

He left the bedroom and found his way to the kitchen where Catherine was standing with a cup of coffee, relaxed against the kitchen counters. She acknowledged him but for some reason didn't speak – which was unusual. Trowa was usually that one that did not talk but then he realised why she was silent as he heard the conversation that was coming from the living area of the apartment. He quietly made coffee from the supplies left out on the counter, grabbing a bagel at the same time and he hoped starchy food would alleviate the queasy feeling in his stomach. As he ate he listened with Catherine to the conversation that was happening in the living room.

"… yeah, this one is a Space Leo…"

"They're the same as that one?"

"Yeah, just made for space combat. Pretty easy to defeat, you know, but when there's a load 'a them they could be kinda tough. Also depended if there was a good pilot because the machine can be as awesome as you like but put a bad pilot in it… and well… it ain't much good."

"Uncle Trowa was a good pilot?"

"One of the best, kiddo. You ask him."

Trowa, coffee in hand, walked into the room and saw the scene in the living room. The television screen was on but the cartoon, something involving star fields and space that seemed unrealistic on first glance, was being ignored for the action figures scattered on the floor and the packaging that had been discarded haphazardly. They'd spent a long time teaching Eli to put toys away and to not clutter places – as they always moved and they lived in small confined spaces it was an important lesson – but now he sat cross legged with Duo and a load of little mobile suit replicas all lined up.

He glanced back towards Catherine through the open door, surprised that she had approved this discussion. They'd spent so long hiding Trowa's background, making him just his "normal" quiet uncle rather than the Gundam pilot he had been and now he was being told about different models of mobile suits by someone else. He supposed it was probably better from Duo – that he'd make it sound cool and fun compared to how Trowa would talk about the war.

Duo glanced up and met Trowa's eye, unfurled his limbs from the awkward position he'd been in on the floor and rose to his feet.

"Just been talking about mobile suits. Kid wanted to know about 'em."

Eli turned, bright eyed, and peered over the couch. "Did you really pilot a Gundam?"

For years, he'd pretended that he no longer had that part of himself. That he hadn't killed hundreds with a spray of bullets or the slice of a blade. That he didn't know how to elbow someone hard enough in the solar plexus to knock them out or even kill them. That he didn't know where to kill someone instantly with a knife blade but the peace time Trowa had disappeared the night that Nabokov's men had tried to kidnap Eli. And the look in Eli's eyes was not the one of fear that he'd had when he'd taken him from that forest dripping in blood. He looked like he was a hero again. Not just the uncle he idolised for fixing things and the trapeze act and the animal taming but for being a pilot.

"Yeah." The answer was simple but there was a look that said he was impressed. Though they may have hidden that Trowa was a Gundam pilot, the Gundams themselves were part of myth and television shows and books so Eli knew enough. "I need to talk to Duo."

It wasn't a phrase he thought he'd ever say and Duo just gave him a quizzical expression that was far more reminiscent of the fifteen year old kid he'd known – not the hit man he'd sat drinking alcohol with last night, talking about how to kill a guy and why he wanted him dead. They went to the room he'd slept in, that spare room and office combo, and Duo closed the door.

"Hey… man," Duo started, "I didn't mean to overstep anything here… but Cathy gave me permission to tell him stuff… I mean, she totally had already told him that you were Gundam pilot as the kid was having nightmares and shit. He needed to know who we were so that he knew we could protect him…"

Trowa knew his face was unreadable – that Catherine teased him when he went like that – that no one could see his feelings and she would knock lightly on his head.

_"Knock, knock, Trowa. Gotta give me some clue to what's going on in there."_

And Duo wouldn't know how he felt. He was more clueless than Catherine. He wasn't Eli's father and he had never tried to be. That wasn't his role but then he didn't have to like the damn fact that he'd not been able to tell Eli about the war. Even if he still harboured conflicted feelings. Even if he regretted some of his actions. Even if those memoires were muddled and confused by his time with Quatre and the after effects of the battle with him in Wing ZERO.

"He needs to know that he's safe and what better way than explaining he's got three former Gundam pilots on the case, you know?"

Trowa nodded slowly and took another sip from his coffee, the bitter liquid helping to remove the cloudy feeling in his head a little. "Catherine tried for so long to hide it."

"All secrets come out in the end, I guess," Duo said and they stood in silence looking at one another. Trowa had things he wanted to say but all he could do was shrug and agree. It would've come out eventually, Duo was right. "I'm gonna relieve Heero. He needs to sleep even if he doesn't believe he does. Maybe you can talk to him… he might listen to you as he's spent the last ten years fucking ignoring me."

"I don't think Heero ever listened to any of us."

Duo laughed softly yet it didn't seem to have any humour in it. Trowa had noticed that each time he laughed or smiled the expression never reached his eyes and he couldn't help but feel there was something more there. Maybe more than they discussed last night.

"Yeah, though I kinda think he listened to you more than me," he paused as he opened the door to leave. "And Tro', talk to the kid. I mean, I'm not telling you what you should do as he's your nephew and all... but I think he needs to know."

"He needs to know what?"

"That we were fucking heroes. That  _you_ were a hero and that you will do anything to protect him."

With those parting words he left and Trowa watched his departure, the braid swaying behind him as he went. He took a moment, finishing the coffee, the cheap taste bland in his mouth and went back to see Eli sitting on the floor still, seemingly disappointed with Duo's disappearance. It wasn't that surprising that the kid already liked him. Despite the haunted look behind the eyes, Duo still had that friendly charisma that people automatically gravitated to and Trowa knew that Eli would respond to it. Just as Trowa had last night.

He sat on the floor, sweeping aside the plastic packaging and picked up a Taurus replica. There were no Gundams among them and Trowa vividly remembered a torturous trip around a large store to buy baby products when Catherine was heavily pregnant with Eli and seeing a shelf display of tiny replicas of each Gundam. His fingertips had traced the Heavyarms one, feeling the tiny indents of the model and remembering briefly that feeling of being behind the controls of a Gundam. That complete power trip and the thrill of it. It was something he'd not felt since that fateful night when those men had tried to take Eli away, when he'd taken lives for the first time in years. He knew Eli was no longer terrified of him but he still seemed skittish. His eyes tended to seek out Catherine – just as he did now – and Trowa turned to see that she had come into the room, standing and watching them.

Her two boys, she'd say, with that little smile. That's what she said at the circus all that time ago. And even at twenty six she still attempted to baby him at times.

Trowa picked up a small replica of a Taurus and he felt Eli's eyes on him and it was at those times he looked very much like Catherine. Not at all like Alexei – completely his mother's son. He was used to letting people start conversations but when Eli looked at him expectantly he knew had to start – that Eli was far too much like him anyway.

"Duo tell you what this one was?"

"To-us," he said, slipping over the word a little. "They were used in space."

"Yeah." He put it down on the carpet and picked up a Leo remembering learning to pilot such a machine at only a little bit older than Eli was now. He'd been barely seven by the time he'd fully piloted Leos in his days as a merc. Before that, he'd spent his time scrambling over them, climbing over them, helping with the repairs. It was a totally different life to the one Catherine had tried to create for Eli.

"It's okay to be scared… sometimes we need to be scared as it protects us. Remember how the lions reacted if someone unfamiliar approached?"

Eli nodded and reached for the stuffed toy, Leo, the name now seeming ironic as they talked about mobile suits. "They show their fangs."

"That's because they are scared and threatened. They want to attack as that's the way they defend themselves."

"You attacked those men because you were scared?"

The simple answer was yes. That he was scared what would happen to Eli if he was with the father that they had been fighting through the courts – scared what a man would do who was willing to kill Catherine without a second thought.

"I was."

"You're not scared of anything."

Trowa could only let a small smile cross his face. He probably looked like that – high wire trapeze act, climbing up rigging within the circus tents without giving a damn about his own safety and being the only one who seemed to be able to control the big cats of the circus. That was without his entire lack of fear when Catherine threw knives at him – something that Eli hadn't seen since he was a confused toddler. All those things didn't scare him. Death had never truly scared him – that death meant little to him during the war or before that. Quatre had tried to make him see the value of life in those unsure days after the wars but then that had faded. Maybe Eli's birth had made him see the value of life again. That being there at the moment of birth rather than the moment of death like he'd been so many damn times in his life had changed his perspective.

"I was scared of losing you," Trowa replied softly.

Eli had avoided most physical contact with him since the day in the forest – not that he'd been overly physically affectionate to anyone but his mom – and Trowa rarely encouraged it but when he crawled over to give him a hug, he accepted it less awkwardly than he would've in the past.

"I wanna know about the wars!"

Trowa looked over to Catherine who smiled like she'd not smiled in the days since leaving the circus and the attempted kidnapping and she left, walking down to the master bedroom that she and Eli had slept in, leaving them alone.

He thought that Duo would do this better – his memories less clouded and it would be more entertaining. That he'd maybe make it sound cooler, there would probably be actions and sound effects but he shrugged as Eli let go and moved to sit cross legged in front of him, and Trowa reached for the remote to turn off the cartoon playing, now forgotten anyway.

"What do you want to know?"

The questions were too many then. What was his Gundam like? Did he fight in space? Did stuff explode? Did he use guns?

Trowa answered them as best as he could – describing Heavyarms in ways that made him think of his time behind the controls of a Gundam more than he'd thought of in years, thinking of space battles but avoiding the memories of his fight with Quatre. It was only after a while he registered that there was someone else in the room and he saw Heero was standing there, listening to Trowa's explanations of the war and his own small role in it.

He'd not seen Heero since he'd turned up all those years ago at the circus – broken and in need of repair once again. That time it was because of whatever happened on that mission in Rio with Duo and the unspoken events that had taken place.

"This is Heero. He piloted a Gundam."

Trowa could see the tension in Heero's body – that as Duo had said, "he don't do well with kids" – but then there seemed to be a little hint of curiosity. He had been watching their interaction after all.

"Hi," Eli said, the shyness returning.

"Hey," Heero replied.

"Duo wants you to get some sleep."

Heero snorted under his breath. "Duo told me that."

He didn't make any comment as Heero went to the room where Trowa had slept last night, the bed that he'd slept in unmade as he'd not bothered to do anything more than get out of it with the feeling of fuzziness in his head. It didn't matter sharing sheets when two people had slept together even if it hadn't meant more than a convenient fuck to forget things. With Heero gone, he turned back to Eli who was quiet again and seemed to be thinking. Trowa took the opportunity to turn back on cartoons and sit down on the couch and watch badly drawn space battles flicker across the screen as he contemplated the past he'd tried to forget and the future he had to protect.

 


	8. Attack on Apartment 3B

The window shattered, the bullets accurately hitting the back of the moving vehicle even though there was some distance between them. Duo had ducked instinctively as the gun was raised and he saw the intention of the merc from the vantage point of the back seat of the car. Catherine was already hunched over, Eli in her arms, and Trowa had managed to swerve the car a little to the side as the bullets impacted with the rental vehicle that they would not be getting their deposit back for. Duo knew it wasn't time to be thinking of something so fucking mundane but he felt a dangerous smirk cross his lips as he looked back out the broken window and fired a few answering shots.

The gunfire was far too damn loud in the confines of the car and he could hear the sound of the kid whimpering a little and Catherine trying to comfort him in soothing, motherly tones. It wasn't working – they were speeding through the streets of the earth sphere's most pacifistic country with a black van behind them and gunfire trained on them. It wasn't really the time to be comforting as they were in shit and the surprise element of Nabokov's latest attempt to kidnap Eli and the higher quality of the mercenaries he'd employed meaning that despite having three former Gundam pilots, they were still screwed and totally outnumbered.

Duo always liked bad odds. Losing battles. And so this was only another one.

He ducked again as he saw one of the mercs slide the gun out of the window, now reloaded, and the machine gun fire rattled, avoiding the car almost entirely as Trowa stopped obeying any laws regarding driving and the car was on the sidewalk.

The sound of Heero's grunt of pain as the car jolted alerted him to the other part of this shit storm that was not good. He looked down to where Heero was sprawled on the backseat where Duo had pushed him into the car after the fire fight, forced him in and he knew that he'd taken a hit but not known about its severity until the small indication of pain that fell from Heero's lips.

"Fuck, why didn't you say anything?" he said, accusingly, jolted again as Trowa took a hard corner in an attempt to get away from the black van.

"It's not bad."

There was no time to respond as another burst of gunfire hit near the car and Duo waited, counting as best as he could to ensure that the clip was empty before moving from his crouched position in the vehicle and taking a deep breath before firing a few shots, aiming for one of the front tires. He emptied the clip, taking a moment between each bullet to ensure at least one hit, his aim off due to the speed at which Trowa was driving. The van swerved and Duo ducked his head back into the cover of the car as another round of machine gun fire sounded, missing them entirely as the driver tried to regain control as it spun to the side, the tire blown. The van was no longer a problem, Duo fixed Heero with a glare that was comparable to his own.

"Show me."

Heero looked up at him and he removed his hand slowly from where he'd been applying pressure to a wound in defeat.

"Fuck."

He glanced over to the front of the car – realising his whole vow the last few days for his language to be thoroughly PG rated had now been disbanded. Eli had dealt with more in the last thirty minutes than the fact Duo was swearing. He'd seen bodies, gunfire, blood and Heero put his body in front of his in order for him to survive. He was sure a few fucks were mild by comparison.

"It's not bad," Heero repeated.

"Hold this."

Duo gave him the gun he'd been holding and decisively removed his hoodie, followed by his t-shirt. There was obvious confusion in Heero's eyes as to why he was stripping in the confines of the car and in their current situation but it soon became clear what he was doing. He put the hoodie back on, not bothering to zip it as then he ripped up the t-shirt into strips, the sound of ripping fabric suddenly seeming loud in the car without the competing sound of gunfire.

They had to get out of New Port City, out of Sanc, in a rental car with obvious bullet holes in it and Duo knew that Trowa understood that – they'd had an evac plan. They just thought it would've gone smoother.

He reached for his knife hidden in a sheath in his boot and used the blade to rip apart Heero's own t-shirt, the pale grey fabric entirely saturated in blood on his right side, the cloth clinging stubbornly to the wound and Duo put the blade handle in his mouth as he touched the wound carefully, grabbing at the material and moving it away from the opening. He heard Heero wince and Duo let his hand feel around Heero's side to see if there was an exit wound. It would be better if there damn wasn't and he felt it was lucky that there was not one.

"No exit wound."

Heero nodded though Duo could see that he was in worse shape than he would admit. Shock was the damn problem. The bullet could stay in him – as sometimes it was damn better that way. If the bullet was in a location where it was more dangerous for it to be removed than for it to stay then the surgeons just left the piece of metal in. And Duo really didn't want to attempt to remove a bullet in a moving car over cobbled streets even if he was shit hot at field medicine. Which he wasn't – rudimentary things were all he'd ever learnt. He tried to create a makeshift bandage out of his t-shirt, aware of the futility of it working as blood was continuing to pour from the wound and then he just scrunched up what remained, balling it up in his bloody hands and applying enough pressure to make Heero gasp. It was a small gasp but one that indicated it hurt.

"You don't have to be superman anymore," he said softly, his initial anger dissipating. "You don't hafta jump in front of a bullet."

"The kid, okay?"

Duo looked over to the front seat, to where Catherine and Eli were crouched and he couldn't see the little boy's face or anything in the darkness but he was alive. And he wasn't in the black van with the mercs. Duo would take that as okay. More than okay. Take it as a win for the good guys.

"Yeah. You saved him 'Ro."

He knew what those words meant between them. He didn't need to say that he'd done what he couldn't do in Rio when they'd stayed in that tiny room that overlooked that bar where the deals of one drug lord lackey Iniesta would take place. Where there had only been a small thin street between the two buildings so that they could hear the constant sounds of a television on too damn loud with soccer playing almost constantly from that bar – the loud and extended "goal" heard far too many times in any twenty four hour period.

That last mission where the walls of the room were cracked, where the windows only opened enough to let stifling air get through and they took turns listening to the chatter of feeds and trying to nap in the damn heat. It had been a fuck up of a mission, the whole thing pointless as they took down a low level shit like Iniesta who used kids to run drugs with a dangerous amount of chemicals in them and they didn't get any intel that was valuable to the taking down of the drug cartel that he belonged to. They'd spent three sweaty, ill-tempered weeks in that place, talking to locals in broken Portuguese and broken English, watching movements and waiting for an opportunity to call in the back up once something worthwhile happened.

Duo knew they both took that mission too hard – maybe Heero more so than he did, but then he still remembered the kids that used to hang around, played soccer with them sometimes, running down the winding pathways and chasing them in their bright soccer kits, taking brief moments away from the room and the equipment and the job. It was those moments that probably made one shitty mission harder to deal with – it was not that they hadn't fucked up before, not the first time the Preventers' intel was off, but it was the last time they could both deal with it.

The fire fight. The civilian causalities. The image of a kid's bare feet on the dusty ground. Things he'd forgotten but then being around Heero always brought it back up. That they were both to blame when things got out of hand – too restless, too irritated, caged too damn long in that room with cracked paint that was too small.

Eli wasn't bloody or dead on the sidewalk outside the apartment complex. Heero had saved him – stopped the bullet from ripping the kid to pieces – probably knowing that the bullet would hurt him but potentially kill Eli and maybe it might make him feel better. Nothing could ever atone for the fuck up of Rio, of the kids, of the thirty or so dead civilians caught in the crossfire of bullets but Eli wasn't dead. He wanted to tell him to take it as a win. Or something. But he didn't as he looked down, zipping up his hoodie one handed with bloody fingers.

Duo saw Heero's eyes flutter and he pushed harder on the wound, intentionally causing some pain and discomfort. "You are not going into shock, buddy. I will keep my hand like this and when you feel like you're slipping, you tell me, 'kay?"

"Yeah."

Duo took the opportunity to look up from Heero and the wound to see more thin streets when all they needed was a damn highway – to get out of New Port City in the damaged car as soon as they could and dump it, blood stained and broken.

"Ya think you can get us outta here, Tro'?"

"Yeah."

They anticipated that it could happen like it had gone down. Maybe they'd been stupid to stay in the same location for more than one day. It was old-school cockiness, Duo reasoned – that they were three ex-Gundam pilots and no one would get the fucking drop on them. Yet they knew that Nabokov had the potential to cause more problems – pay more money and get better mercs. They'd had an evac plan – that if Nabokov's men approached the apartment, they'd separate Catherine and Eli and concentrate the defence on the kid. That Eli was the target to acquire, that the rest of them were expendable and that they'd need one of them to take the kid, one to protect Catherine, and the other to provide cover. It was a workable plan. Just one that Duo had hoped they didn't have to fucking use. But they'd used it – not exactly how they'd planned.

Used it in the middle of night – the only damn good side to that being that all three of them were awake, Heero was on the roof but Nabokov had been clever. Somehow their feeds had been fucked with, the images repetitive, and while Trowa and Duo were watching them in turn it took a while to figure they'd been tampered with. It was only when the same woman walked by twice in the spell that Duo watched did he figure that something was wrong. And then he tried to communicate with Heero. The radio frequency didn't work. Nor did his cell. It was a smart move – not just cutting the feeds, instead hacking into them and altering them subtlety. Duo thought about telling Heero his computer skills had got rusty but then he figured it wasn't the most appropriate thing to say.

It gave them enough time for Trowa to wake Catherine and Eli – throwing on jackets, securing the weapons, the med kit, the shit that was essential and then made an attempt to follow the evac plan. They didn't get out of the apartment until the sound of gunfire came from outside the building and Duo only smirked, checked his weapon and ammunition, and stepped out running point. He'd slung the duffle bag of weapons over his shoulder, the bag that contained the med kit and some cash – the essential things they needed. He didn't get time to look back sadly at the apartment, to see the mobile suit figures on the floor, the expensive surveillance equipment abandoned, the place that had been a shadow of a relationship long since gone before he was being followed by Trowa – Catherine holding her son tightly, protectively – and they were making their exit down the stairs, Duo hoping that the suppressing fire from the roof was making it difficult for too many mercs to make their way into the building or to try and make it up the stairwell.

Duo didn't blame the kid for being scared as he went down the stairwell leaving them at the top, the location of their apartment close to it as that was one of their own remits when they bought the stupid place. That there was an exit. It was only just after the war. Paranoia was their friend back then. Still was.

It took a brief second for gunfire to start, enough that time stood still like it did so many times before in battle and this time rather than the first ineffectual mercs that Nabokov had sent for Eli, these guys were much more capable. Black ops gear. Body armour covering their chest with POLICE on so as to look like they were the damn good guys. Duo had only glared under his bangs at them. They may look like the good guys but sure as hell they weren't. And when the first round of shots reverberated inside the apartment complex, Duo fired back – taking down as many enemy combatants as he damn well could. Aiming for the head.

'Should've supplied helmets,' he'd thought.

It was only in the scuffle down the stairwell did shit look bad. Heero joined them from the roof, his body being used a block between the mercs and Eli. They'd fought their way down, laying suppressing gunfire until they'd reached the rental car, and that's when Heero had taken his damn hit. Just hadn't acknowledged it until he was bleeding to death in the car. Stubborn asshole.

Suddenly, Trowa stopped the car and Duo looked up in surprise, his eyes having been fixed on the place where his hand pressed, covered in a layer of drying blood.

"Swapping cars," he said simply, and Duo nodded as Trowa exited the vehicle and jogged to a large silver SUV – a dull, family-style car that was pretty average. It was a good choice. Duo would've made the same if he was on the run.

And as he'd spent the last eight years of his life being inconspicuous, learning to do the understated thing, the thing that would not get him noticed, he appreciated that Trowa understood what they had to do. But then Trowa had spent a good portion of his life trying to fade into the background, to go by unnoticed, and so Duo figured that he understood that better than anyone. Better than even Heero.

"You okay to move?"

Heero nodded in a short tight motion and then moved up from the reclined position slowly, replacing Duo's bloody hands with his own as he sat up. It was painful, Duo could see that, he knew those little signs that Heero gave, and he felt more worried than he would admit to Heero. That it was now ten years since the war – over that since Heero was in Dr. J's labs, his DNA and genetics being played with so that he could survive a fall from a hospital building, so that he could survive self-destruction, survive every battle, every beating, every piece of shit that could be thrown at him. Yet those drugs, those chemicals, those experimentations had long since been done with and God only knew if Heero was as strong as he used to be. And he was noticeably in pain. From a little bullet wound. He'd have made a joke but he hated himself for thinking that.

"Just be careful, ya don't want the bullet to move and hit something vital."

Trowa had secured the car, Duo impressed that he'd not tripped any alarm or done anything as unsophisticated as knock a window out. He'd not been watching but guessed that Trowa obviously had some sneaky techniques just as he had.

'Knew he was a sneaky ass motherfucker,' he thought as he opened the door and provided some help to get Heero awkwardly out of the car.

This time, unlike so many others, Heero accepted the help and they managed to get him out, Catherine and Eli already in the new car, the lights on and the engine running as Trowa approached to help. They moved him awkwardly together and Duo couldn't help but see the look on Trowa's face. He knew more about field medicine than Duo did – after all, he could put broken soldier boys back together – and the way he glanced at the amount of blood and the pallor of Heero's skin indicated he thought it was as bad as Duo feared. He didn't vocalise that thought and nor did Duo. Once Heero was in the car, they stood for a second against the car.

"You okay?" Duo asked, quietly, aware that he'd not really said anything to Trowa since their escape. He wiped blood hastily on his jeans but knew there was no damn point. He was covered in blood. Heero's blood. And it would stay that way.

"Yeah," he replied, his eyes taking in Duo's obviously bloody appearance. "You?"

"Always am, buddy."

They didn't speak anymore, getting into the hotwired SUV to drive through the night as far out of New Port City as they could.

 


	9. Collide

The wound was as bad as Trowa thought, glad of the med kit when they finally stopped driving, his hands bloody as he carefully stitched the folds of skin back together, the light not quite bright enough for the task in the hotel room. It would've been better to move Heero to the bathroom, the harsher lighting perhaps giving Trowa a better view of the wound site and to decide whether he should extract the bullet. Instead, he was doing it in limited light as Heero had been moved from two cars and then finally into a hotel all the while bleeding steadily. He'd given Duo a look that suggested that he needed a hospital but he knew Duo would veto the argument before it could even leave his lips.

Trowa had asked Heero if he wanted alcohol to numb the pain but he'd declined. Catherine had acquired some when they'd stopped for some limited supplies, as Trowa knew he would need it. He'd poured it over the wound site to disinfect but Trowa was unsure if the process would work. Heero needed a hospital with cold white antiseptic sprayed walls and doctor's hands. Not merc's hands. Yeah, he'd learnt a rash of skills in his childhood – learnt how to patch someone up if not as well as a doctor, as well as he could.

The stitches complete, he went to the bathroom to wash his bloody hands and returned, looking over to where Catherine was sitting on the opposite bed to Heero, Eli already fast asleep in it after the trauma of the evening.

"Go get some sleep, Trowa. I'll watch him," she said, smiling a little through her own fear and exhaustion. "It's not like it's something I've not done before, right?"

Trowa nodded to acknowledge her offer. He and Duo had been the only ones who had not slept since Nabokov's second attack. Catherine and Eli ended up falling asleep on the drive out of New Port City, only waking half an hour from where they ended up stopping. Heero lost consciousness and drifted in between sleep and wakefulness, Duo not daring to let himself close his eyes as he had to ensure that he was not losing Heero to blood loss or something. His makeshift bandage had been effective, Trowa would tell him, the bleeding had been staunched and if Duo hadn't acted like he had, Heero may have bled out on the back seat. It wasn't cheery thought.

They'd gotten two rooms yet they'd all congregated in the one with Heero in – Duo had leaned cautiously against a wall to give Trowa the required space to work and watched him closely but said nothing. He had noticed him take a swig of the alcohol and he supposed he couldn't comment. There was a strained, pinched look to his face and Trowa could see he was still covered in Heero's blood, his hands, his arms, even his neck. At least his clothing was black.

"You should sleep too," he said to Duo whose eyes were trained on Heero on the bed, his chest now rising and falling in a steady pattern that indicated sleep.

Duo looked up. "I think I need a shower first."

Catherine had got them two rooms next door to each other, the hotel chain furnishings exactly the same in the other room yet reversed. Trowa turned on the light, following Duo inside and saw a complete lack of self-consciousness as Duo removed the zipped hoodie and threw it to the floor, his t-shirt having been sacrificed to the bandaging of Heero's wound. He looked over his shoulder briefly before doing as he said, heading towards the bathroom and leaving Trowa alone to sit on one of the beds.

He felt a slight shake in his hands now – not the steady hands he'd had when he'd stitched up Heero – and he looked at his body's traitorous reaction to the last few hours. He'd killed more men. And they'd nearly lost Eli. Nearly lost Heero. It had been a complete fuck up. He heard voices in his head – those of his old merc troupe telling him he was useless to the company, unable to pull his weight. Too young. Too anonymous. Too meaningless.

The sound of the shower entered his consciousness and his mind briefly provided the image of hot water sliding over a body and he swallowed realising it wasn't the time for thoughts of that nature. He should just undress and fall asleep, his body over sensitised, adrenalin started to wear off and the inevitable crash downwards making him feel a little sick.

Duo exited the bathroom and was wearing one towel low on his hip, Trowa's eyes drifting from where the juncture of torso met hipbone, the slide on the right side revealing more skin due to the way he'd tied it. He was drying his chest, his neck, his shoulders, his braid that he'd left in and Trowa felt something within him tightening. He couldn't deny that he'd thought of Duo in a sexual way on occasion, though in the past Heero might as well have put a stamp across his forehead suggesting that he belonged to him and he had still been with Quatre at the stage. In the past few days, with the help he was providing, with the whole late night conversations, thoughts may have crossed his mind but the proximity of Heero again confused him despite the fact he was aware that they were not together anymore. He must've been staring or he looked out of it as he found Duo suddenly in front of him.

"Tro'? You okay?"

He looked up at Duo and he felt the touch of a hand on his arm and only that slight contact of a hand through clothing was enough to ignite desire. The sound of gunfire was still ringing in his ears, the sound of Eli scared and crying, the shouts of men determined to destroy what he had to protect. It all made him act in a way he would never have thought possible.

Trowa didn't know what possessed him but he stood and bridged that gap between them so that Duo's face was so close. Close enough to feel breath on his own face. Close enough to move to meet lips. They were suspended in that moment. A moment that they could go back from – return to a world where this wasn't happening or couldn't happen or didn't happen. The pause was Trowa's way of asking Duo if he wanted this – do you want me to kiss you? He wasn't going to articulate feelings. Wasn't going to say that he was anxious, frustrated and angry. Scared even. That he needed  _something_ and that something was in front of him. A fuck. That's all it would be, he'd reason, a quick meaningless moment between two consenting adults who were not only adults but friends. Sex would mean nothing.

Duo looked at him wide-eyed but not retreating. Not making any attempt to move back and the moment stretched. This was the part Duo was meant to say something. Say no. Say something. Say anything. He was pleading in his eyes for Duo to say something.

'Say no,' he thought, 'say no so this doesn't get more complicated.'

Duo didn't say anything. Instead, lips were meeting his and Trowa realised that he'd said yes – not with his words but with his body as Duo pushed him a little more aggressively than he expected and he found himself sitting back on the edge of the bed with a tongue thrusting into his mouth as another body straddled him. His body caught on quicker than his brain as his mouth responded, his tongue sliding to meet the other man's, tasting and prodding and  _feeling._  His hands had seemed to move of their own accord, running up damp skin, feeling a wet braid, fingers touching a muscled back, running down Duo's side. There was an automatic grinding of hips as his body started to tighten, arouse and want to feel friction, the towel already having partially slipped between them so that Trowa's clothed form ended up against Duo's naked body.

He barely noticed where Duo's hands were but they were already underneath his t-shirt, one hand at his back, the other teasing a nipple. He gasped when fingers pinched and Duo's mouth moved away from his and he trailed a tongue down his face, his jaw and his neck.

"This means nothing," Duo stated against his flesh and Trowa shivered at a slight scraping of teeth. "Just sex."

"Yeah," Trowa responded through heavy lidded eyes.

Duo's hand had just found its way to the growing bulge in his jeans and if he was only half way there from the kiss, his body had now fully responded on the touch of another person's fingers, even through denim.

He jolted at the touch as their mouths collided and he felt the fingers of the other hand dig into his back, hard, the roughness more of a turn on than he would admit. Trowa wanted it rough. Didn't want making love and gentle and staring into each other's eyes lovingly. That had been so Quatre.

Fuck. He knew he shouldn't think about him when kissing a very hot, hard and willing Duo Maxwell. He shouldn't think about their fumbling, about Quatre's reticence as he was grinding his hips into Duo's and he was running his fingers over abs, over toned pecs, finding nipples, getting the signals of "fuck me" from another man. For a second, Trowa thought that Duo must be psychic and realised that he was thinking about another man as Duo pushed away from him to stand, the towel falling to the floor entirely, the pretence of him remaining covered gone.

But then he realised what was happening. Duo was skilfully removing his belt and undoing the buttons of his jeans and Trowa stood, removing his nondescript clothing and letting it drop to the floor. Duo's hand paused at the waistband of his boxer briefs and there was a brief moment when he thought Duo was backing out of this. It would make sense. Heero was next door. Shot. Wounded. And here they were about to screw around. Though Heero and Duo were long since over – fucked over by the mission in Rio that neither spoke about – there was still this undeniable connection between them that Trowa knew was beyond his comprehension.

But then he figured why he'd stalled.

"I really didn't think you'd be into capes and tights, Tro'."

This should have been embarrassing but right now when Duo's hand was over his hard dick through the material he really didn't care. For some reason, he'd bought some superhero themed boxer shorts, comic book print ones that he'd thought no one would ever see. His clothing was always so boring, blandly coloured and he watched far too many cartoons and read far too many comic books with Eli that for some reason he'd bought them. Trowa just hadn't expected to be wearing them when he was about to have sex.

"Maybe I have a hero complex?"

Duo laughed and then fingers were in the waistband, pulling them downwards, material stretching over his cock and then they fell down his legs, pooling on the floor, leaving them both entirely naked. For a second he felt unsure again, naked in front of another man for the first time in awhile. He did not live a life of celibacy but due to the nature of his constant travelling, he could have random sexual encounters but nothing that required any thought afterwards. Duo was different, despite the fact it was "just sex," and Trowa found himself saying something.

"I'm not Heero. It's not about him," he said and he saw the frown flit across Duo's face.

"I know," Duo replied. "I'm not Quatre – you're fuckin' me not a shadow of something else."

He nodded imperceptible. He knew that – he knew it was Duo – not Quatre, who was always so damn restrained – who to him, Trowa was his gay experimentation phase and nothing else. He didn't know why he'd had to say it – that he wanted Duo to be with  _him_. Not thinking about someone else.

He reached out again and wondered if his words had broken the mood as Duo wasn't touching him at all.

"Condom? Slick?"

"Wallet," Trowa answered. "Lotion in bathroom?"

Duo nodded and went to retrieve whatever the hell a cheap chain hotel on the edge of the Sanc Kingdom provided and Trowa grabbed his jeans, finding the brown bi-fold wallet and a condom before moving aside the cheap cover on one of the double beds and watching cautiously as Duo returned, the fire of their initial kiss waning and the feeling that it all could be a mistake surfacing.

His uncertainty was quashed as Duo gave him the lotion as the only acknowledgement of how they were going to do this and kissed him again, less frantically but they still fumbled their way onto cheap white bed covers, Trowa falling onto his back with Duo's body aligned over him. It didn't surprise Trowa that now that Duo was naked that he was covered in scars just as he was but there was something reassuring in that. He was covered, still self-conscious about some of the old ones, the burns and belt marks that never had seemed to fade on his back – he forgot about them but knew they were there at moments like this.

He traced his fingers over Duo's back, feeling the ridges of old wounds that had cut deep into his skin before his fingers made their way further downwards. Duo made a small noise in the back of his throat into their kiss as one lubed finger entered him slowly. Trowa was being gentle as he could be but he could feel the muscles protesting at the invasion and then the moments of slight relaxation, the opportunity to add another finger. They stopped kissing and stared at each other as his fingers made slick movements in and out, both breathing heavily and sweat staining both of their bodies. Duo shuddered above him as he applied another finger but they held eye contact. He moved them in and out, creating a rhythm and then decided enough. As much as it was interesting to see Duo's reactions to fucking him with his fingers he wanted to be inside him.

Trowa moved and caught Duo by surprised, rolling them over quickly so that their positions were reversed and now he was on top. He kissed him hard, his fingers searching for the condom he'd discarded on the bed and for a few moments having to move away to complete the process of ripping open the foil and sliding it on. Duo's hand seemed to offer to help but he didn't want help. He worried that those skilled fingers could bring him off too early and he wanted to be inside that hot body underneath him when he came.

He drew up Duo's legs, resting them on his arms and positioned himself before slowly sliding in – small, gradual movements as heat enveloped him. They maintained eye contact as he did and there was something happening between them. This wasn't just sex. Not just stress relief. Yeah, there was an element of adrenalin, of it being about need but this meant something. It wasn't the proclaimed nothing experience.

Trowa pushed all the way in and leaned forward onto his arms to kiss the man underneath him, Duo responding enthusiastically, and then he started to move.

They tried to take it slow, conscious of the fact that they were in a cheap chain hotel and that the bed collided with the wall making a noise as it did. That Catherine and Eli were in the room next door. That Heero was. They panted, they grunted, they moaned but as quietly as they could. Trowa had always imagined Duo to be loud in bed – he'd heard him on Peacemillion demanding "harder," heard it on the other side of the walls when he and Quatre were still together but it was one part of his fantasy that was not going to happen. Oh shit. He realised, briefly, that this – fucking Duo – had been a long held fantasy. And then he didn't think much anymore.

Trowa thrust deeply and he realised he must have hit that particular bundle of nerves as Duo's hand was in his mouth and his head had gone to one side. If he was a cheesy guy, he would've made some comment about whether he'd liked that but talking during sex freaked him out so instead he leant down to meet Duo's lips again, taking the moans and pants of the other man in his mouth and keeping this as quiet as they could.

His lips bent down to Duo's ear, impressed by the flexibility of the other man with his legs now slung over his shoulders and bent double. Duo's weight was on his shoulders and Trowa knew he was close. Something about that position, something about the man underneath him opening himself up and something about it being Duo underneath him was bringing Trowa to climax steadily but suddenly.

"Touch yourself," he whispered.

He'd said it quietly and wasn't sure what had made him do it. He wasn't the most articulate of people in normal situations but during sex, well, he didn't articulate at all with words. That was the point with sex. He'd hated Quatre for talking during the act. He'd liked his experiences with Heero as there was a completely unspoken understanding that they would not make any reference to what they were doing even while they were doing it. But with Duo…

He moved his position again, drawing back a little and moving one of Duo's legs from his shoulder, letting it stay at his waist. Duo understood, wrapping both legs around his waist tight and one hand ran down his body slowly to touch, to pump, to wrap his hard dick in a fist and blue eyes met green as he watched him even as he slammed hard into that tight, hot body. The bed moved with their final fast, hard movements and Trowa tried everything not to shout out something as he came. The bed frame seemed to creak as he thrust a few more times into Duo before he felt him cum, hot and sticky between their bodies and managed to say a quiet "fuck" rather than anything louder. They stilled, bodies sated and sweaty and listened for a second. There was a vague look of guilt on Duo's face but no noises could be heard from the other side of the wall.

"Wow… intense," Duo said.

Trowa nodded and moved off the other man, removing the condom and tying it off. He didn't know what to say. Was he meant to say thank you for the sex? This casual sex thing was not something he was well versed in – yes, there was the odd one night stand with someone he'd met in scuzzy bar, but there was also an element of just leaving after the main event. But this was Duo. He wanted to reach out but that was an act of a lover, not someone who you were having "just sex" with. It was confusing.

He watched as Duo moved, went to the bathroom for a few moments before he came back in boxer shorts, sitting down on the other bed, creating distance.

"Tro'…" Duo began but he just sighed, seemingly unsure of what to say. "That was… kinda nice."

Trowa arched his brow. "Nice?"

"Yeah. Nice."

They stared at each other across the small distance of the two beds until Trowa got up, padded over to the bathroom to shower and left the awkward after-sex conversation at just that. He took his time in the shower, washing away sweat and gunshot residue, cum, and the whole shitty day. When he returned to the room, Duo had turned off the light and was asleep or doing a pretty convincing imitation.

He returned to the bed that only fifteen minutes earlier they'd fucked in, turned to look the other way and took a deep calming breath. And he'd thought his only problem was Nabokov. He really shouldn't have fucked Duo Maxwell.

 


	10. Back Up

Watching the slow rise and fall of Heero's chest as he lay on the hotel bed seemed vaguely reminiscent of a time when Heero had been strapped to a table, his breathing regulated as he tried to trick the Alliance's doctors into thinking he was unconscious. Duo knew that was a long time ago but as he lay injured, sleeping, his body healing after Trowa's rudimentary care, there was something young looking about Heero. That he did look a little like that fifteen year old boy that he'd so admired and not the twenty six year old man he'd become. Not that he didn't admire him still, his self-sacrifice for Eli, that unthinking reaction that was both stupid and brave, but things were complicated. Far too fucking complicated and Duo had done what he shouldn't have done. Made them more complicated.

He was on watch. Trowa had gone to dump the car and find a new one. Catherine and Eli had gone with him to secure breakfast. Heero had come through the worse, it seemed, his body beginning to heal as it always did but Duo was sitting on the bed opposite, the covers made by Catherine in a fit of over-zealous cleaning and he had his head held up by his hands, watching Heero breathe.

There were plenty of times in Duo's life where he'd done the wrong thing – stolen a mobile suit to try and appease Alliance troops and causing the death of every person in the church, stowing aboard a ship that would lead him inevitably to a life of fighting for the colonies, and then what had happened between him and Heero. They'd been far too young for the intensity between them. And he regretted his actions – he was the more confident one, the more knowing one and really it all fell on his shoulders.

Now there was Trowa. Shit. Last night should not have happened as they'd been too high on adrenalin, too high on being alive and them getting the fuck out of there without any one of them dying that something had happened that shouldn't have. He thought he'd grown out of that shit, that he'd stopped making stupid decisions but there had been another one. He really shouldn't have had fucked around with Trowa.

It had been awkward this morning, taking a shower and avoiding each other's eyes, getting dressed in yesterday's damn clothes as they had nothing else. They'd need to stop somewhere to get something that wasn't blood stained for him. Though the hoodie was black, the crusted, dried blood clung to the fabric and he wanted to throw the thing out immediately but the whole escape had not given them opportunity to collect belongings. Duo's backpack remained at the apartment – his clothes and his tablet gone.

Heero's chest started to indicate a change in breathing and a few moments later he was awake – maybe it was not as instantaneous as Duo remembered. He remembered waking up next to him and finding him go from asleep to fully alert within moments but there was a fluttering of eyelashes before he came around to full consciousness.

"Hey," Duo said gently, announcing his presence.

Heero was probably ever so slightly disorientated, the loss of blood affecting his body and mind so Duo didn't want him to react like he would've in the past. React first. Think later. There would always be something dangerous about Heero Yuy and Duo was all too aware of that. That if Heero felt threatened in his confusion, he still had the potential to lash out and Duo was not dumb enough to allow that to happen. He spoke to make sure it gave Heero some grounding in the situation, allow Heero's brain to catch up, to remember.

He stood to walk the small distance over to the edge of the bed and though Heero looked considerably less alert than Duo would've expected, he blinked up at him as though clearing his brain of fog.

"How you feeling?"

It was a dumb question but really, it was the only one he could think of asking. Duo had lost plenty of blood at plenty of points in his life and so could figure out how Heero was feeling – groggy, lethargic, and pretty damn weak. And Heero had always hated being weak.

"Hey, buddy, stop, you gotta be careful of the stitches…" Duo said, reaching out to touch his bare chest and make him stop moving, but Heero lashed his hand out at the attempt to initiate physical contact.

Heero rose to a sitting position, pushing aside covers and Duo could tell there was a slight hint of pain in the movement or some disorientation or something. If any of them had been shot, they would be dead, he supposed, sure as hell he would be dead, but if Heero was only suffering a little bit of pain and dizziness then that was that. Duo stepped back, sensing that he wasn't damn wanted and really, he didn't want to be this close to Heero. Not after last night. He still felt like he had the traces of Trowa's touch on his skin and it was fucked up but it was always that thing. Heero could see right through him. Always had. Always will. And he was so fucking Catholic sometimes – the only thing he really remembered from his time at the church was the stories about the ark and how to feel guilt. It seemed to have been embedded into him.

"I'm fine, Duo," Heero gritted out as he swung his legs to the side of the bed, dressed only in bloodied boxer shorts and a bandage.

"No, you were shot asshole and you were bleeding out for fuck knows how long and shit, Tro' ain't a doctor…"

"He put me back together once."

The statement was harsh and Duo conceded a little. It had certainly been worse after his damn attempted self-destruction.

"True but fuck knows what J had been pumping into you then."

He took a second, looking around the room and remembering the other people who should be present. "Trowa?"

"Gone to dump the car and get us another. Cathy and the kid went with – get some breakfast and stuff. We all need to eat something."

Heero took in the information as he always did, with a curt nod as confirmation, and then evaluated it in his own head. Some things would never change. He made a motion to get up and Duo once again made an attempt to support and help but he received a particularly harsh glare and retreated. He let Heero rise to his feet on his own and he readied himself to catch but he was going to let Heero do what he thought he could do – he always had been the world's suckiest patient. He often wondered how Trowa had not killed him in the time during his rehabilitation after Siberia. Maybe the guy had more patience – or, sure as fuck, Duo knew he did. But then as he understood he was unconscious for pretty much all of it. Duo was hardly the greatest nurse and was a terrible patient himself. Really, he couldn't say anything about Heero's attitude.

He walked towards the bathroom, Duo watching each step, his arms folded across his chest.

"You want help?"

"I don't need you to hold it for me, thanks," Heero retorted and despite the tension and the whole situation, Duo couldn't help the snort.

"Yeah, yeah."

He wanted to add something about being on the other side of the door if he was needed but it was redundant and he knew Heero didn't need him. He'd needed him once, that he knew, in the aftermath of Rio when he'd been too wrapped up in himself to help Heero who was obviously hurting more than him. And it was Trowa Heero'd gone to then. Just as it had been during the war. Even now it was Trowa who could heal him, who could do the stiches with steady hands, whose nephew helped him work through his shit by saving him – Duo was just the ex with a whole lot of baggage.

Duo sat back down on the edge of the bed that Catherine had made and looked around the room. They needed to move on as soon as they could, use the fake ID's to get across the border and figure out how to keep Catherine and Eli safe. But now with Heero injured, even if an injured Heero was worth a damn sight more than ten normal dudes, meant really they should call in more back-up. And he needed to contact someone else but he suddenly felt devious, like a complete asshole and it was not something he intended on doing. Not to Trowa. Not to any of them, really, as they had all become so fractured in their relationships after the war.

"Hey, 'Ro," he said through the door.

He heard a grunt in response.

"You get a laptop or tablet out?"

It was a damn stupid question as he heard the toilet flush and Heero emerged, his hair wet and his eyes a little less hazy. "Yeah."

"I think we need to discuss something, you and me."

Heero walked over to the duffle bag he'd had on the roof with him, the large sniper rifle and ammunition dominating it but then there was a laptop which he carried with him to the bed opposite and booted up, the moment of the machine coming to life, the soft whirling noise of it working, the fans cooling it and Duo found himself assaulted my memories of school dorms and then of the apartment they'd just run from before… before Rio. Before the kids and civilians.

Their eyes met like they so rarely did anymore and shit, it made him feel worse as he felt his stomach tighten and he knew there would always be this connection between them. And it just made him feel especially guilty for last night. He looked away to his hands in his lap and knew that was about as big a giveaway as he could give Heero but he could only sense his expression, not see it, and he didn't know whether it was disapproval or not or if he figured out why he was being so evasive.

He listened to the key strokes of a password and whatever other security measures Heero had on the machine and then he looked back up, putting away any of the personal feelings, not looking down to see his chest, to see the bandaging and wounds. Shit, he really was a bad person. Fucking someone else when his not-quite-ex was lying injured next door.

"Can I, ya know," Duo asked with a shrug, knowing how possessive Heero could be about his machines but he handed it over. "I think we need to get Cathy and Eli outta the way so the three of us can take down the asshole."

His eyes flickered up at Heero as he shook his head. "Trowa won't leave them somewhere."

"I'm not saying we leave them somewhere, jeez. I know he ain't gonna just abandon them. They are his family an' all," Duo said, frustration in his voice. He remembered one of the reasons Rio had ended up being a fuck up. They'd got too damn pissy at each other. "I'm saying we get someone to take 'em somewhere safe."

Heero made a noise under his breath and Duo glared up at him and was tempted to throw his damn laptop at him as he was not helping. He supposed, so far, nowhere had been safe and that had been the damn problem. He connected to his own heavily encrypted email programme that Cypher had set up and then placed the laptop down on the bed as he retrieved his wallet from his jeans.

Yeah, after the war, things had gone to shit between the five of them. Wufei had decided to leave them all behind, them being memories of everything bad he'd done and Duo couldn't blame him. He and Heero at that point had been Preventers and he'd wanted a life of peace. And they didn't fit that. Maybe Wufei had done the smart thing. If Duo had cut off all ties to Heero they wouldn't be sitting in some hotel room in Sanc but then he'd never quite been able to leave him behind.

And Wufei had stopped seeing them all before the breakdown of Trowa and Quatre's relationship. Before they were forced to take sides and it became even more complicated. Duo had taken Trowa's at the time as some kind of solidarity thing with Heero but he never really knew how he felt about it as really, him and Quat had been closer during the war. It just ended up that way. But then he still had a stupid slip of paper in his wallet.

It had been a peace offering, he guessed, but Duo had never responded to the attempt to reach out. Howard had looked at him wearily, one of those times when he was borrowing a shuttle off the old geezer and paying him an obscene amount of money to shut the fuck up to anyone. Not that Howard would give him up… it was just that Duo was careful. And the paper had been enclosed in a wedding invitation, an invitation that he wondered whether Heero had received or whether it was a specific attempt to reach out to him specifically. It was old now – he knew enough about Quatre's life since the last time they'd spoken that he'd married and had kids but not much more than that and he sure as hell didn't know if the private contact details would be active still.

He guessed they would, that would be the Quatre he remembered, wanting them all to fight together, be friends together and it was a nice idea that didn't go too well when you had five individuals who were varying degrees of fucked up.

The private contact details were there and for a second he hesitated and looked up at Heero who was watching with impassivity.

"I think we need to call Quatre."

He was surprised to see Heero's eyes widen slightly. "Trowa wouldn't want that."

"Yeah, well, at this point he ain't got an opinion. We need to get them outta the way and how many friendly blond billionaires do you know? He can get 'em off into some colony or satellite and there would be no goddamn trace and we can take out Nabokov without distraction. We can't keep running."

He felt the twisting in his gut as he looked at the contact details – what had it been? Eight years since they'd spoken? And a lot had changed. He looked back up at Heero. Duo was a hit man, hardly the sort of person that Quatre should associate with and as he'd said to Trowa, he wasn't quite sure what the fuck Heero did.

"He might not come, ya know," Duo said, shrugging, "we just need to work out how to get a message to him."

He saw a slight look of conflict on Heero's face, a brief moment where he saw him weigh up the options and try to decide what the best one was. Quatre might not come – he might not feel any loyalty towards any of them but then the small note came with a wedding invite. To a wedding that in a different life he may have attended. He may have been the best man in the fantasy versions of their lives where they'd all got along and things hadn't become what they became. The silence was finally broken by Heero's soft words.

"Make contact."

Duo typed a message, feeling like a damn idiot – it had been so long since they'd spoken that he hardly knew what to say and despite Cypher's encryption, despite it being Heero Yuy's laptop, his paranoia at Nabokov's abilities meant it had to be brief and pretty meaningless. Their old OZ given call signs were hardly that damn clever but they still had some use as he typed.

**/04**

**Request back up.**

**02/**

"Man, Trowa's gonna hate us," he said, as he closed down his secure messages and passed the laptop back over.

One eyebrow rose imperceptibly on Heero's face, an expression that Duo could pick up after all the years that had passed between them. "That bothers you?"

Duo met his eye, the hint of something more knowing behind the deep blue and he just chuckled in a defensive gesture. "Naw, just always thought he wasn't the best guy to piss off as he has all those circus moves. And ninja skills. And he damn  _hurt_ when he punched me in the gut… not as much as you but I value all my body parts functioning, ya know."

It wasn't a lie, he realised as he babbled needlessly, he just diverted it away knowing that yeah, Trowa was going to hate them but really there was no other way around it. They needed to focus on getting to Nabokov's home and taking him out and they couldn't do that while protecting the kid and Cathy as hard as they damn tried. And maybe he did care a little what Trowa thought after last night. Fuck. 'Just sex.' He'd never had much success with that concept.

There was no time for anymore probing stares or whatever the hell Heero was trying to do as the door to the room rattled and for a second, both he and Heero looked towards finding weapons in some fit of paranoia. However, there were three hard knocks that indicated an ally and the door opened with the swish of a card key, Eli pushed forward a little to make him move by his mother and Duo met Trowa's eye as they brought with them a selection of supplies – food, clothes and the news of a new vehicle.

Duo grabbed a t-shirt and a sweater that really didn't feel like his style and went back to the room he shared with Trowa the night before while food was shared out and fuss was made of Heero by Catherine. He could see he hated every damn second of it. Duo wondered how she'd survived during the war when Heero was even less personable, less damn friendly, and more likely to put a gun in her face.

He removed the hoodie, looking at all the blood crusted on it and grabbed the tee – a couple of sizes too big – and was sliding it on when the door opened and Trowa was there.

"I thought I'd bring you coffee before it went cold," he said, holding a bag and a paper cup.

If the first part of the morning had been awkward then this damn eclipsed it. Obliterated it. A fuck ton more difficult. Their hands briefly touched as Duo took the cup and he lowered his gaze.

"You know it was just sex, right? You don't have to think about giving me breakfast or nothin'."

Duo hated himself for saying it as he lifted his eyes to Trowa whose expression was pretty unreadable. It wasn't that he necessarily regretted it but it was what he'd just done in his absence – what he and Heero had decided on his behalf – that made him feel worse.

"I know," he responded.

He was going to say something about being friends, about forgetting it happened but then he really didn't want to as it had been… good? It had felt like more than just fucking around but Trowa didn't even give him a chance as he walked back to the room next door leaving him with muffins and coffee and feeling like complete shit.

 


	11. Helping Hand

The high speed train took them across Europe while avoiding the intense security of the airports and Nabokov's potential scrutiny.

Trowa watched Eli closely as he sat opposite diagonally, alternating between looking out of the window as the countryside passed and playing with his newly acquired toys – bought to replace those lost in the apartment.

Two mobile suits – a Leo and a Space Leo – were talking to each other and Trowa was a little amused by Eli's narrative. It made him remember a more innocent time. Before... before everything. Nabokov. It made him remember their life at the circus. Before Duo Maxwell and Heero Yuy were back in his life.

Heero was sat directly opposite Trowa and next to Eli as Heero, since his gunshot wound, had become Eli's new favourite person, even supplanting Duo, and so he had demanded that Heero sit next to him on the journey. Stuck by his side like a shadow. Supposed that Heero was probably one of the best people for Eli to become attached to as he was as dangerous and lethal as any of them – even when injured.

It didn't offend Trowa that Eli had made his demands to sit with the former Wing pilot. Heero had nearly died and he seemed to be appreciating the attention. Less awkward around him now, smiling slightly, answering a few questions about his life as a Gundam pilot – Heero replying softly, one or two word answers, but it was something. And Eli was used to Trowa and Heero had always been somewhat similar to him. Heero maybe a bit more violent, a little more damaged, or maybe that's what a tumultuous young love affair with Duo did. But then Trowa always remembered him as intense even in their youth.

Duo was not on the train. Neither was Catherine. A decision had been made to separate – Catherine had fought it with every fibre of her being, bright eyed in one of the Sanc motel rooms, but it made sense. They'd had three days since Nabakov's last assault and they'd regrouped enough for Heero to move more fluidly and it was decided then that they'd get out of Sanc and create a distraction by using two different methods. Heero couldn't fly – a bullet still embedded in him that would set off metal detectors in airports – so it was decided that Heero would take the train.

"Eli needs to go on the train – airports have cameras and shit, too obvious," Duo had said.

Trowa had to agree with that logic – not that they all weren't obvious. Nabokov probably had facial recognition technology and would know whoever went through the airport – but then maybe it would help if Eli didn't. The train stations, while they still had security, did not have the same level – an antiquated form of transportation for tourists more than anything else.

Duo and Catherine left for the airport a few days ago and Trowa had promised Eli would be safe to his mother, reassuring her, but the events of the past few weeks made her less than sure of that outcome. Trowa was not entirely positive himself – watching every person on the train, watching closely who got on and off, his hand eager for a gun he had hidden underneath his grey sweater.

At least they had weapons. Duo didn't. But if they made an attempt of capturing Catherine, Trowa had faith that she'd be able to fight back. And Duo was hardly harmless. And between himself and Heero he hoped that no surprise attack would come and if it did, they would face it – old habits dying hard. They had bought multiple tickets to multiple locations and hoped that the confusion of multiple tickets and different names would give them enough time to reach Minsk and get to an apartment secured by Duo's contact where they would reconvene today. They'd had no contact for the past few days and Eli had been a little anxious but Trowa had told him stories about the war to get him to sleep in small hotel rooms, swapping look–outs with Heero with small glances, sleeping a little and travelling by day. They now had less than an hour until Minsk and their final stop but that didn't stop him from feeling anxious.

Trowa looked over at Heero – his eyes on Eli – and he wondered if Heero knew about what had happened between him and Duo. Once had been an acceptable turn of events – shit, he had never planned on sleeping with Duo but it had been good, hot, distracting, adrenalin–fuelled. And the morning after, the awkwardness, the attempt they both made to distance themselves suggested it really was a one–time thing. Duo had tried to make it clear that it meant nothing and Trowa had tried to reciprocate that apathy despite everything.

Yet at the next hotel, near the border of Sanc, Trowa had found himself in the shower with Duo pressed up against him, unable to stop it happening again, a mouth at the back of his neck, the slick slide of soap and water, a hand around him, jerking him off, fighting back then, his face irritatingly in the spray, pushing Duo into wet cold tile. Kissing him aggressively, grinding their bodies together in the imitation of sex, Duo running his fingers over his shoulders, back, down, a finger pushing inside him and moaning into the kiss, Trowa sliding his hand between them, tugging at Duo's cock, until Duo pushed back, Trowa's face hitting the tiles. He lost then, willingly, the slide of soap slicked fingers, replaced by his dick, slowly being fucked into the wall until he came against it, water taking away any evidence of the encounter.

The kiss after, towels around waists, water drying on skin, was different to anything so far and Trowa knew it was wrong and fucked but there was some feeling there. And it felt worse to be thinking about it when Heero was opposite him, smiling at Eli, making him feel like it was some deceit. He knew they weren't together, that Duo and Heero were a long time over, but still Trowa saw the looks they shared – the innate understanding they had of each other. It was unsettling and made him feel out of place.

The scenery changed suddenly – no longer a rolling vista of fields and forests but rather houses, a cityscape appearing – and Trowa caught Heero's eye and he acknowledged that with a curt nod.

This part was where the danger lay. Trowa didn't believe that they'd escaped Nabokov entirely – that was a naive and stupid thought. They'd have been caught on cameras too many times and despite the separation, multiple tickets bought, he knew they had to be cautious. No one was getting to Eli. He'd promised that. To himself. To Catherine.

He couldn't help a pang of worry surfacing then – they didn't know if Catherine and Duo had made it to the apartment, the 'safe house,' but he had to trust they had. He'd put a lot of faith in Duo. It made something in his stomach tighten thinking about him, his slick skin, his scars, his hair, his tongue.

'Fuck, wrong time,' Trowa thought.

The train slowed on approach to the station and Trowa told Eli to pack away toys in a backpack that he carried a few things in – clothes, some candy – his pack innocent compared to the ones Heero and Trowa were carrying. One night, a town over the border into Lithuania, Heero had disappeared from the room, coming back in the early hours of the morning with a bag containing weapons and Trowa had not asked – as Duo said, he could've be working for some clandestine organisation as an international terrorist or a Preventer consultant or even working for damn Relena – it was safer not to ask. Yet he had managed to acquire a cache of weaponry that his mercenary self would've been impressed with – even as a civilian, he still was.

Trowa got up and grabbed bags from the overhead compartment and gave one to Heero, looking briefly down both ends of the carriage as other passengers followed suit. It was as the train began to stop that Trowa gazed through the window at the platform, his eyes anticipating a threat. He saw none as the train stopped and he knelt down to Eli, securing his jacket tight around him as Catherine might do.

"You have to stay close to us, understand?"

Trowa didn't want to scare Eli – just make him understand that the days of what seemed like safety were not going to last. "Hold my hand. Listen to me all the time."

Eli nodded as Trowa stood and he held his hand as they exited the train and stepped onto a busy platform. The train station in Minsk was old, vaulted ceiling, impressive architecture, and large. Trowa held tightly onto Eli's hand, walking swiftly but not too fast, Heero walking a few steps behind as some kind of rear guard and Trowa couldn't help feeling uncomfortable with so many people around them.

He'd learnt to pick out threats from a young age – it was vital to learn that the way Trowa had spent his childhood. In a childhood spent among merc groups and the constant threat of potential violence, he had learnt who the predators of the world were – those who looked through slitted eyes, who were danger and were on the lookout for prey. Trowa had become one of them – not wanting to become prey and ensuring he didn't.

His eyes picked up the threat and glanced back to Heero who had seemingly clocked it a moment or so before, a hand drifting to a concealed weapon and him pulling the bag over his tighter to his body. They'd discussed this – as Trowa began to figure out how many, he slowed his pace in the pretence of letting Eli catch up to him rather than indicating they knew. They didn't want to show that yet.

Trowa stopped altogether and bent down to pretend to tie Eli's shoelaces. Heero continued walking and now it was just the two of them. He felt an uncomfortable feeling – a reminder of being in that forest that had started all this – Trowa bloody and Eli scared. It also made him remember holding him, small and defenceless, newborn and wrinkly, there outside the delivery suite in Marseille until those sounds – the first wailing cries of a new life happened and he held him, passed from a weary looking Catherine into his arms.

Now he wasn't entirely defenceless, not as scared as he had been, but was looking at him, confused.

"Where's Heero?"

"He has to do something." Trowa glanced up to see that there were five men, he assumed, on the lookout for them.

He hoped that Heero knew what he was doing. Then he had to apply some of that blind faith to him that he'd had during the war – how he'd so admired him at fifteen, during his recovery and during a few nights of silent passion, piloting the Mercurius and Vayeate to fight Quatre and the time aboard Peacemillion, a cycle of waiting and then battle.

"We need to go to the bathroom."

Eli whined – protesting that he didn't need to go, wanting to see Heero and Trowa remembered that despite the fact Eli had been through a lot and was very much like him, he was a child still. And a little creative bribery was occasionally required. "You promised, remember? You do this and we can get more toys."

He agreed to that and Trowa walked over to the men's room quickly, not quite sure how much time they had, as they were watched entering but not followed. There were a few other men in the restroom but Trowa picked one stall, locking the door behind him and knelt down to his nephew's level.

"There's going to be an explosion soon. Cover your ears."

The words were barely out of his mouth when the sound of the first detonation resounded and the first cries of panic. Trowa wrapped his arms around Eli, his body used as a defence as another explosion shook the foundations – the charges enough for damage but not to destroy. To distract. Heero would've set four – that was the plan – and Trowa waited for all of them. They weren't intended to kill but do enough damage to evacuate the station. To create the panic of a crowd. For Trowa and Eli to slip out.

He pulled Eli's hood up, wrapped a scarf firmly around his own mouth, as much of a disguise as they had bothered with. "I'm going to carry you."

"Okay."

Trowa lifted him, exited the stall, the bathroom – Eli in his arms, the little boys hands wrapped around his neck as the panic of a terrorist attack ripped through the station. The authorities were on the scene, directing, guiding, evacuating. A cloud of smoke hung in the air – the smell of explosives tickling at his nostrils and Trowa wondered if it would be possible that there would be no civilian casualties. He wondered if Heero cared if there were. The boy during the war maybe wouldn't have – they did what they had to do – but the man who had been through so much. Trowa doubted he'd sleep well with more innocent people on his conscience.

The panic meant they were drawn into a crowd of people of all ages, jostled on either side, and Trowa tried to adjust his hold on Eli while carrying a bag full of weapons and ammo. He tried to see the men, looking around the crowd and he saw none, obscured by all the civilians.

On exiting, Trowa saw the first responders, the crowds, the people observing the drama as though watching some show on television. There was a cordon, an attempt to keep people in the area – Trowa assumed for questioning, as they would need to discover who had set those small bombs.

They wouldn't find Heero – Trowa was certain of that. He'd already be somewhere else. On his way to the apartment as they were – slipping through ineffective crime scene tape and Trowa putting Eli down at that point as they began a quick walk to the apartment located near enough to the station for the blasts to have been heard.

Catherine would be panicking. More than that – her mind probably gone to the worst case scenario as she waited for them – and Trowa took the route he'd memorised. Minsk was another city he'd passed through though he didn't know it. Yet he had sat with Heero in hotel rooms, pouring over maps, going through plans and how to react to different circumstances and he'd learnt the streets, crossing roads, holding Eli's hand tight.

He thought he'd avoided all of those men – disguised as businessmen, students, builders – when he rounded a corner to see a gun raised in the hand of a smug looking stranger.

"You thought we wouldn't catch up with you? There are too many of us and too few of you."

Trowa didn't hesitate, the gun out of his waistband and two shots fired without any thought. Eli flinched but the awful truth had become that he'd seen so much that it wasn't as shocking as that first time at the forest. It made his blood boil under the surface as Eli was never meant to be like he had been. Never supposed to know the cool caress of the metal of a gun and the image of blood on the sidewalk. He leaned down briefly, checking for a cell phone, guns and then grabbed Eli's hand where he had waited, wide eyed, and glanced in all directions before walking at an even faster pace to the rendezvous location.

No one else followed – or so Trowa hoped – and they arrived at an old block of apartments on a street full of other grey blocks of apartments. They were old, built to accommodate railway workers so long ago, unrefined, utilitarian, anonymous. They approached the one 'their' apartment was in – the front door had a buzzer system once, so long ago, but now the door rattled on its hinges, and they walked into a corridor, dark, the strip lighting above dead.

The stairwell smelled of piss, the paint peeled and covered with graffiti. He recognised some disparaging comments about the ESUN in Russian, a language he knew enough of, and they were walking up, up, to the fifth floor in the old building. No elevator. Too antiquated for that. Eli seemed tired, his steps dragging and Trowa stopped.

"You want help?"

From such a young age, Eli had seemed defiant – from battles at night with him as a baby, screaming, his little fists balled against Trowa's chest, attempts made to head butt him – to now, shaking his head.

"It's okay to ask for help when you need it."

Trowa had – currently making his way to Duo who had done everything he could've asked for.

Eli consented then – Trowa picking him up the rest of the way until they reached a nondescript door where he put Eli down and rapped his knuckles against it in a pattern to indicate it was him – and relief flooded him moments later when the door opened and Duo stood there – no signs of injury.

Blue eyes met Trowa's and then glanced behind him as if searching out Heero and that created a feeling he couldn't define deep down somewhere. As Duo would always seek out Heero. He should damn well know that. He closed the door behind him to stop looking at the vague look of confusion and worry on Duo's face.

They didn't say anything as Catherine was there then and Eli ran towards his mother – she wrapping him in her arms, removing the bag, smoothing his hair back and asking how he was in a million different ways.

She glanced up at Trowa, mouthed a "thank you" and Trowa only nodded. Eli was never his son but was still always his – he never needed thanks.

"Let's get you cleaned up and then we'll have some food," she said and took him to what Trowa assumed was the bathroom or bedrooms along a thin hall.

With her gone, Trowa turned his attention to Duo and the anxiety on his face, the tiredness, they all looked like hell now, he guessed.

"Heero?" Duo asked.

"Set off the explosives as a distraction. We were followed."

Duo leaned his body against the wall, lax, his arms folded across his chest. "So were we. Tried something as soon as we landed."

"Bad?"

"Both of us came out without a scratch. Can't say the same for the other dudes."

Trowa dropped the pack of weapons to the floor, saw Duo watch his movements, careful, and he turned towards the braided man. He'd done so much for them – the money, keeping Eli and Catherine alive – and he thought about how he'd tried to thank him all that time ago and Duo said it would get worse. It had. Worse and more complicated but still Trowa leaned towards him, reached for his chin, felt a quickening breath before he kissed him, slowly, like the kiss in the shower after rather than the heat of their sex.

He heard movement and despite the fact Catherine was more than aware of his sexual preferences and the fact she had no problems with Eli knowing his orientation, he still stepped back, but it wasn't Catherine or Eli who stepped into the hallway from an open door.

Trowa looked at that person and back to Duo, slumped a little against the wall, and looked awkward as there he was.

He'd changed – eight years did that – his hair a darker blond, some stubble on his jawline that the fifteen year old boy wouldn't have had – dressed in some ridiculous street clothes. The sort of hoodies Duo wore and looked natural in but it looked odd on him.

"Hello, Trowa."

Trowa didn't say hello – a small grunt was all the greeting he gave to Quatre Raberba Winner.

 


	12. Reunion

They were waiting for Heero, the atmosphere tense as Duo paced and ignored Trowa sitting on the chair and Quatre sitting on the couch. Conversation had been attempted on Quatre's part. Trowa had steadfastly ignored it – answering with "yeah's" or "no's" – and offering no more.

Catherine avoided the tension, avoided Quatre, a barely repressed sneer on her face at his arrival and Duo could almost see she was biting her tongue so hard that it might bleed. Metaphorically. Or maybe not so much.

Quatre had arrived three hours before Trowa had, Duo meeting with him at a small bistro down the corner as he expected him to arrive in suit with the Magunacs as, out of all of them, Quat was the least sneaky, least stealthy, and he was the one Duo thought might give their location away. After all, he was one of the most recognisable faces in the whole earth sphere. The world's most famous billionaire.

But he'd barely noticed him as he walked into the bistro, messy dirty blond hair, a few days of stubble, a faded hoodie and ripped jeans. He was dressed like Duo did normally as a disguise – the concept amused him. They'd shaken hands, Duo unsure whether they should hug, greet each other like old friends but they weren't even that anymore. Too much time had passed.

Duo had asked questions that he already knew answers to – knew he'd married, knew he'd had kids.

When he brought out pictures, twins, a boy and a girl, Duo had looked and tried not to ask the question that had popped into his head. Probably asking if they were conceived the old–fashioned way was inappropriate but then he knew the story of all his sisters and his curiosity was piqued. He guessed he'd never thought about kids – being woefully ill–equipped to deal with his own fucked up life never mind anyone else's life in his hands but then he wondered with all the shit their bodies went through at such a young age whether they'd be capable.

Guess he'd never know. Quatre had come back to the apartment, waited with him as the explosions were heard in the background and Catherine panicked, Duo soothing her until they arrived back. Now they waited for Heero.

Duo wondered if he was waiting, as always, to make some kind of dramatic entrance – always the quiet ones, he thought. Then when time ticked by he worried – Heero injured and Nabokov's men in number and highly paid mercs, not the shit that had been sent first time around.

He avoided Trowa's eye – a little uncomfortable in his gaze but he felt those deep green eyes on him as he paced, finally relieved when the knocking on the door indicated Heero – the coded rapping of knuckles against wood making Duo start.

"I'll get it," he said. Trowa merely grunted and Quatre nodded.

As he walked out of the door, he wondered if Quatre might attempt conversation but he didn't – and Duo felt a damn knot in his stomach for what he'd done to Trowa. He thought of how complicated his own feelings for Heero were and they weren't coloured by the shit that went down at the end of their relationship. Least Heero hadn't married Relena and had some 2.4 children.

Duo opened the door and let Heero in – his sharp eyes taking in everything. He was a little dirty, but beyond that seemed fine – a bag slung over his shoulder.

"You okay?"

It was an irritated growl he got in response. "I'm fine."

Duo tried to say something else and Heero stopped him. "Now that you're fucking Trowa stop acting like we're together."

It wasn't said with any venom – a little anger maybe, but more like a statement of fact.

"Never could hide anything from you, huh?"

"No."

Duo should've figured – Heero was anything but dumb and he had been radiating guilt. He supposed he hadn't been subtle about jumping Trowa in the shower, disappearing together into an adjoining room probably had been a damn give away. But he was blaming that on some fucked up adrenaline thing rather that those first flurried thoughts of being into someone – like he'd been into Heero – where spare moments during the war were spent thinking about a boy in spandex and his wet dreams were filled with the feel of his hair, memories of his lips, how his hands felt – got him through OZ captivity and lonely nights where it was only him and 'Scythe.

He wasn't into Trowa like that, he reasoned, he was twenty damn six now – not a teenage boy and he was not thinking about how hard Trowa had fucked him into the mattress or how Duo had returned the favour in the shower, loving the feeling of hot slick skin and the press of cold tiles.

"Quat's here," Duo said, breaking the moment between them.

Heero had nothing else to say to his statement and they entered the room. Unlike the awkwardness between Trowa and the blond and Duo's own reticence when they first met, Heero acknowledged him as he would anyone.

"Quatre," he said and offered a hand in some odd display of formality that made Duo wonder if he was at the very least working occasionally for the Princess.

"It's good to see you, Heero."

The display of politeness was funny to Duo – it seemed so damn out of place – and he went to lean against the window, perching on the sill, feeling the cold of glass through his clothes. Heero took a seat and Duo saw the tiniest indication of pain – a twitch on his face as he did so – and he made a mental note for one of them to look at the wound site.

Duo cleared his throat to attempt to alleviate some of the awkwardness and his eyes met Heero's who nodded. He tried to meet Trowa's, to look apologetic or something but he was being blanked. It made him a little pissed – yeah, he'd blindsided him but surely eight years was enough time to be over Quatre. He looked back to Heero. Fuck he'd never quite be over him. Maybe your first always screwed you over.

"Quatre's here to take Catherine and Eli to a safe location so we can go get Nabokov."

Trowa looked up then, levelled him with a look that Duo had never seen. He associated Trowa with calm, true that he didn't know him all that well despite their fucks, but now he looked angry. Pissed. Murderous even.

"Safe? Where exactly is that?" His words came out with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Duo almost flinched. Didn't. Kept his composure.

Quatre answered, diverting Trowa's attention. "I have a resource satellite under construction near L4. I'll transport them to there. No one knows about it apart from trusted people within WEI and a few contacts within the ESUN. No one will know their location. Once I get the all clear, I can bring them back to earth."

"By yourself? Thought you always needed an army as back up," Trowa said – his words scathing.

Duo maybe had not seen Trowa like this but he could tell what he was doing. It was like he was one of his damn lions, backed into a corner by a superior force and then he would fight back, viciously, not giving a shit. Quatre seemed to wilt back into his chair at the response and Duo gave him a sympathetic glance. But then really, Quatre had been the one who had been an asshole at eighteen. Then Duo figured he still was an asshole who played around with people's feelings – holding into some candle he had for Heero while screwing around with Trowa.

"I'll have back up," Quatre answered, his voice level, calm and soothing. A reminder of his role within the five of them long ago in so many ways. The peacemaker aboard Peacemillion when tensions got high.

"Quat's gonna get them off earth tomorrow, then we travel to St. Petersburg to kill this fucker. This plan will work Tro' – they need to be safe before we fuckin' try anything as Heero's wounded and we need to use you and –"

Duo had plenty more to say, was going to give a full, long rambling speech on what would happen – the plan he and Heero had discussed but the voice from the doorway stopped it.

"So you've decided that?"

Catherine looked angry. Duo had seen her like that – fierce, over protective when he'd found Trowa all those years ago at the circus, confused and without the memories that made him a Gundam pilot. She directed her eyes at him, like she'd done then – but this time she was angrier, if that were possible. She appeared to be shaking and she had the attention of all the men in the room. They were all former Gundam pilots, all trained killers, hell Duo was a gun for hire but when she walked into the room, there was a palpable tension. Duo looked at Heero – he knew Catherine's anger. He'd had knives thrown at him – he'd told him that. When she'd been trying to protect Trowa again – after the devastation that Quatre had left in his wake.

"What right do you have to decide what's best for us?" she asked, her anger pointed in Duo's direction. "Your  _help_ hasn't worked so far."

Trowa stood at that in an attempt to placate his sister, or that's what he guessed, but Duo blamed his lack of tact and his amazing ability to put his put in his mouth despite being older, more mature, and he said only one word. But that was enough.

"Cathy – "

"Don't Cathy me, Duo Maxwell! I know you're fucking my brother. You made friends with Eli and you start fucking Trowa and you think you get a say in our lives! You have no right to say anything to me. No right!"

Duo blinked and felt his body slacken into the window, as though trying to get further away – it wasn't that he couldn't fight back but what she said was not out of place. He really had no damn right. And his help? What the fuck had his help done? Created a lot of confusion and emotional drama. Maybe he was little surprised she knew and his eyes had flickered over to Quatre who took _that_ news with a slight hint of shock on his face.

"Catherine," Trowa said soothingly, on his feet, approaching her, attempting to calm her down. She was shaking – that everyone could see.

It seemed to calm her slightly, looking up at Trowa and she seemed to be fighting with some untold emotions. This calm didn't remain for very long. Duo thought Quatre was the empathetic one who understood emotions, who understood feelings and surely, he'd know not to piss off Catherine in what was an already tense situation – but he didn't.

He approached her. "I will personally guarantee your safety. My security team is extremely well trained and trustworthy."

None of them expected what she did next. Duo was still a little distracted by being told off like a child – something that vaguely reminded him of Sister Helen – when Catherine made her move. After all, Catherine had been a circus performer, threw knives, could use the trapeze and she was not to be trifled with. But then they were violent men trained in hand to hand combat – really, one chick should've been easy to stop.

The slap across Quatre's face was with all her strength and then she balled her hands into fists and started hitting them against his chest. Quatre was totally stunned – as they all were. It took a few seconds for one of them to react and Trowa grabbed his sister underneath her arms from behind, dragging her away.

"Goddamn you! Do you know what you did to Trowa? You cold-hearted bastard!"

"Catherine," Trowa said gently as he pulled her away, her arms still flailing.

"No – he needs to know! What it was like – what you became… He nearly killed himself over you!"

That statement stopped any conversation just as swiftly as the slap. Quatre raised his hand to his cheek where the impact had been and gingerly touched it. Duo's eyes met Trowa's across the room and he tried to say something in that look – that Duo got it – and that even though he was trying to damn convince himself they were doing something out of convenience and a need to burn off some adrenalin, that he wasn't going to be an asshole like Quatre had been. Or he'd try not to be. But really, the situation was fucked.

The slap and her shouting seemed to take whatever mental and emotional reserves she had left as then Catherine seemed to sag into Trowa's body. Duo knew she'd been trying to maintain some semblance of normality the past few days despite the fact they didn't know whether Trowa and Eli were okay. That she hadn't slept. That she'd been awake in the night, making tea or coffee, as he sat up in the living area, making contact with Cypher and waiting, damn waiting for their arrival. It had made him feel sick and it wasn't his kid – yeah, he cared for Heero and Trowa but he didn't fucking know what it felt like to have your child separated from you. Couldn't even imagine that.

Catherine turned into Trowa's chest and Duo saw him automatically wrap his arms around her in a way that made his heart ache. It showed they were family. Shit he'd never had,

"I hate this…" she said softly, her voice muffled by Trowa's t–shirt. "All you planning mine and Eli's lives. And what you are going to have to do. I want things back to how they were, Trowa. I want the circus and you… you not to have to be this again."

Her head was resting against his chest and there was a silence in the room apart from quiet, heavy breathing – until a small voice spoke up.

"Mommy?"

Trowa's eyes met Duo's over Catherine's head – in recognition of the "oh fuck" that nearly came out of his lips. Though Duo knew Eli had probably heard far too much swearing over the past few days.

"Why did you hit? You said hitting is bad."

Duo stepped forward to try to defuse the situation, get down to Eli's level, but before he could Quatre had knelt down in front of the little boy.

"My name's Quatre. What's yours?"

"Eli."

"That's a great name. How old are you, Eli?"

"Five."

"Wow. I've got a little girl and a little boy. Twins. They're four, not quite as big as you." He paused and glanced across the room to meet green eyes before returning his gaze to Eli's. "Your mommy hit me because I hurt your Uncle Trowa really, really bad a long time ago. Before you were born."

Eli nodded, though he had a puzzled expression on his face as though trying to understand what Quatre had said. "Did you hit him?"

Quatre smiled. "No, I didn't hit him. I did things that were a lot worse than hitting. It's something you might understand when you're older but the important thing, Eli, is that I'm really sorry. I'm really, really sorry and I never told him that."

The little boy nodded and seemed to accept that, and then looked over to his mother and uncle, and Catherine, while a hell of a lot calmer than she had been, was still shaking a little so Duo walked over and put his hand on Eli's shoulder.

"You wanna play with some toys?"

He thought that it was best to get him out of the room – Eli didn't need to see the damn argument or his mom strung out and emotional. Eli took a moment to consider that – looked over at his mother and uncle for approval and then gave Duo a bright smile. The kid had liked him from pretty much that first day and maybe it reminded him of how he used to be. He had been a kid, once, even when he was on the streets and piloting a Gundam, he'd been optimistic and made jokes. It seemed everything post war had turned his life to shit. It made him feel a little less cynical playing with Eli, spending time with the kid – he was never going to be Quatre and hell, he was never going to be Trowa with that emotional connection to a child but he could get him out of the room. Have a little fun.

They played for a little in one of the bedrooms – the one Catherine had chosen – and they spread out toys on the sheets. Duo took a Space Leo, some of the toys replaced by Trowa on their journey, but Eli was quiet – hell, the kid was quiet anyway but then there was quiet. He'd learnt his fifteen year old impressions of Trowa were entirely wrong. He was thoughtful, considered – said shit that was needed to be said rather filling silence with bullshit. He had to admire that – maybe that's why he respected him or why he was now in this situation.

"Do you get scared?" Eli asked, his hands falling from the toys and folding into his lap.

Duo looked at him, cocked his head, and tried to give him one of his more confident smirks. "Yeah, everyone does, dude. I could tell you a hundred stories from the war."

The kid curled up on himself, his knees folded, arms around them. Duo remembered being like that as a kid – wanting to be small. Hidden. Safe. It hadn't fucking worked for him but Eli was different.

"Hey kiddo, what's this about?"

"I don't want to go with him."

"Quatre? Quatre's a good guy. Lemme tell you some stories about him from the war..."

"No, my dad."

Duo stopped at that, felt a weird as hell feeling in the back of his throat. A lump or something that made it hard to speak for a moment. There was all this history, complexity – the relationships between the five of them confusing and connected – like a fucked up spider web. But at the heart of what they were doing was this kid – this kid who should've never seen the amount of blood, violence that he did, should never have met Duo Maxwell or Heero Yuy, shouldn't have to be taken into hiding by the richest man in the earth sphere.

Eli wasn't Duo – orphaned and unwanted. Wasn't Trowa – raised by mercs as that was a step up from starvation. Wasn't Heero – raised by an assassin and taught how to kill. Eli was loved and wanted and he shouldn't be scared, shouldn't need Gundam pilots to protect him.

Duo reached out, the kid had been cautious of physical contact and that was probably wise – that's what normal kids were told – be cautious of strangers and that kinda shit. Eli didn't bat him away as Duo slid his arm around him, and instead relaxed into the loose hug.

"We won't let that happen," Duo said softly. " _I_ won't let that happen. You got my word."

 


	13. The Talk

As they sat at a small circular table, Trowa looked at his tea in a chipped mug rather than at Quatre. The years had made his feelings regarding his first relationship less confused but on seeing that person for the first time in so long a lot of latent emotions resurfaced.

Quatre wasn't the first of anything for Trowa except maybe his first actual heartbreak. He could give him that dubious honour. He wasn't his first betrayal and he hadn't been his first sexual experience. He'd been Quatre's first time – had tried to make it memorable for all the right reasons and enjoyable unlike his own – preparing him while going down on him, making love to a beautiful blond in the middle of a war. And Trowa could admit he was the first person he loved and that was why he'd left his mark.

He drank a sip of his tea, looked at the papers that littered the table rather than at Quatre – plans of Nabokov's home laid out along with all the logistics of what amounted to an assassination or murder if it was looked at in the harsh light of day.

They'd discussed everything, arguments made, plans rearranged with different input but now it was only hours before Quatre left with Eli and Catherine. And inevitably they were going to do this – have this discussion and put old ghosts to rest. Trowa didn't believe in ghosts nor did he feel the need to assuage Quatre's guilt after all these years but Heero had disappeared to do a perimeter scan and Duo had gone to one of the bedrooms to sleep so that they could rotate who was on watch.

It seemed that they all conspired for them to have this conversation – Catherine had made tea as some kind of peace offering to the blond man after her slap. It had left a mark. Trowa remembered the feeling after his own aborted self-destruction. Catherine did not pull her punches.

Trowa drank more tea – wishing for the acidic taste of alcohol or a strong cup of coffee. Some kind of stimulant rather than the tea. Tea was Quatre. He hardly drank it. Brought back memories that he'd preferred to forget.

Trowa intended to keep the conversation short and unemotional – to keep it strictly formal and unfriendly. He didn't want to owe Quatre anything but he did now – a private shuttle, his personal security team, the costs of hiding Catherine and Eli on a satellite. And Duo had made it happen – it made him clench a hand involuntarily, the one rested on his knee, as the thought of Duo setting this up, of making this happen behind his back, caused irrational anger. His feelings for him were already confused since the first fuck and now he felt bitter and a faint sense of betrayal. And he didn't like it.

"You're married," Trowa said, matter-of-factly after some time just to make some conversation. To keep it neutral.

"Yes, I have twin daughters, I could show you pictures but…" Quatre paused and looked as awkward as Trowa felt. None of it felt right between them. "You and Duo. I wouldn't have expected that in a million years."

"We're sleeping together. Nothing more."

Quatre blinked. "Casual sex doesn't seem very… you."

"You don't know me anymore."

"And Duo and Heero?"

"Not together."

"But Heero's here…"

"And they are not together," he answered but then he remembered how they stood together during the plan discussions, how their eyes drifted towards one another and how Duo seemed to gravitate towards Heero like a moth to a flame. Those observations made him make another comment. Or maybe it was Quatre – those baby blue eyes, that sincerity of his concern, all those things that made Quatre who he was. Who he'd always been.

"They still have feelings for each other," Trowa stated, looking at his clenched fist.

"Sounds complicated," Quatre said, that smile on his face that made him look young.

"Isn't everything with us?"

Quatre laughed gently and put his cup down. "Always has been... You look good, Trowa."

He tried not to flinch at the statement. He didn't want a compliment from his ex and nor did he feel that he could give one to Quatre. Quatre was an attractive man – probably more so now that he'd grown a lot more into his father's looks than the young boy that he'd been but Trowa didn't say anything. Yes, he didn't have romantic feelings for Quatre Winner anymore but there were feelings that he'd buried. Hurt. Anger. Resentment. Plus a fuck load of others he wouldn't admit.

"And Eli seems like a good kid. You and Catherine seem to have done a great job."

"He is."

Trowa didn't want to elaborate anymore – Eli was a good kid but he didn't need to sit and discuss it with Quatre. He'd lost that right years before, being told some clichéd line about it being 'me, not you' and making Trowa feel like nothing. Like he meant nothing. They'd been young though, insensitive, heroes of war, finding their way after the battle had finished.

"I don't want this to be awkward," Quatre said quietly. "I would like us to be friends again. Before everything we were friends, remember?"

Trowa nodded. He did remember being friends. Being offered shelter. Being offered friendship. The boy who came out of the cockpit first – stupid move, he always thought. Things had just happened because of the intensity of war – he wouldn't have fallen as hard and far without those circumstances. The fear of dying without feeling something good. And Quatre had been that something good. Wide eyed and willing.

"I don't know if we can be friends again. You used me."

"I was young, Trowa, and I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't understand how much I hurt you. I just had too much to live up to." He stopped and looked at his cup of tea. Trowa let him continue. "I always envied you. I always envied Duo and Heero. After the war, you three could be anyone you wanted to be but I… but I couldn't. Wufei couldn't. We were sons. We had expectations and yes, Trowa, I loved you but I couldn't just run away to the circus and be with you. As much as I wanted to… I couldn't be like you three."

There was sincerity in Quatre's voice and the words were nice and sounded right but Trowa just stood up. The cup clattered.

"I can't do this. We don't need to have a heart to heart, Quatre. I'll trust you with Eli and Catherine. I trust you to get them off world and protect them but I don't want to be friends."

He started to walk away and for some reason the whole situation reminded him so clearly of that day, so many years ago, when he walked away from a fifteen year old Quatre who asked him his name and who wanted to be friends. They'd moved on a lot from that point, become men, but still, they were those same boys somewhere. He looked back briefly.

Quatre looked disappointed and then despite everything he looked like his Quatre – that boy he'd idolised a little too much. Remembered Quatre underneath him, his rough hands trailing down his back – your first fucked you over. It certainly was true of them. And of Duo and Heero.

That thought stung again.

"One day I hope we will be," Quatre said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "Friends that is. Even after all these years I miss that."

Trowa stopped for a moment, spoke gently. "One day, maybe."

He wanted to be alone but there was nowhere to go in the claustrophobia of the apartment except the bedroom with Duo and he knew he should go for a walk, a run, use up some pent up energy before confronting him, speaking to him alone for the first time since that kiss that felt like static across his lips. Before the blindside of Quatre's return.

But he couldn't leave the apartment – Nabokov's men could be potentially anywhere. He feared the worst as they all did. And so apart from hiding in the bathroom for the duration of the night, he had little choice but to open the door to the room Duo slept in.

It was quiet and he felt a pang of longing at the way he lay on the bed, the covers thrown off and his legs tangled in them, tight t-shirt and boxer shorts and nothing more. Trowa considered then stepping out, of hiding in the bathroom as it seemed a better idea but despite his stealth skills, Duo had heard him.

Trowa swallowed, tried to dampen down the anger and the bile in his throat, tried to not feel so goddamn sick but it was difficult. Everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours that had been painful and complicated had been of Duo's making, those decisions that he'd made for Trowa – the plans to kill Nabokov, the plans to get Catherine and Eli off world. Bringing in Quatre.

"You okay, Tro'?" Duo asked, his voice muffled by sleep.

He was. He wasn't. Trowa wasn't sure as Duo was sliding off the bed – that impossible hair, those eyes bright in the darkness of the room and when Duo was in front of him, looking up in concern, Trowa reacted, pushing him to the wall, the suddenness of the attack making a small yelp fall from his lips.

Trowa pushed at him, Duo looked a little startled, a little unsure but was ready to defend himself, sleep and the unexpected force giving Trowa an advantage but not for long.

"Look, man –"

"No," he said, interrupting any speech, any apology – he didn't want to listen to Duo. Not at all. As the way he spoke was so damn eloquent, persuasive that he'd agree and Trowa needed to say his piece. "You did that without telling me. You could've said something. Quatre doesn't appear just like that. How long since you contacted him?"

Duo looked like he would've shrugged but he didn't due to the hands on his shoulders. "Before we left Sanc, the day after we..."

The sentence was left hanging and Trowa let go then, worried if he didn't that he might just punch Duo. The words "the day after..." was accompanied by a look that said volumes – the day after we fucked, that's what it meant, and Trowa punched at the wall rather than at Duo's face. It hurt a little as he backed away and walked to the other side of the room, looking out of the window as Duo remained where he had been pinned. The sheer distance between them in a tiny room the main indicator of the status of whatever their relationship had been now. Whatever it was going to be. Whatever it was, over now.

"I did what I had to. Fuck it, you asked for him dead, you asked for my help – and shit, I'm gonna use whatever fucking methods I need to. Just because you still hold a candle for Quat don't mean shit. It's eight years, Trowa, grow up a little."

Trowa had ignored Duo's eyes for that speech but looked up at that. "Like you? Who fucked me to get back at Heero?"

"I did not fuck you to get back at him," Duo said, his voice laced with anger. "I told you what it was at the goddamn time, asshole."

Trowa snorted. "So all this is unintentional? Fucking with people's feelings because you're Duo Maxwell and you can?"

"Fuck you, Barton," he spat back.

"You already did that," Trowa answered dryly.

Duo threw his hand up, his eyes blazing with barely suppressed violence. "Oh yeah and you didn't want me? Fuck, I had feelings for you, dickwad." Duo made a noise low in his throat and grabbed for clothes, avoiding Trowa's eyes. "'Least you being an asshole makes this easier."

Trowa took in the statement. The word feelings created a lump in his throat, a constricting feeling in his chest but he asked one word softly. "Easier?"

Duo looked up after having shimmied into jeans. "We didn't say anything in front of blondie just in case any shit happened so he had deniability." Duo's hands were clenched in fists, his eyes downcast. "We're pinning everything on me. One of my identities – a hit man for hire, you know?" he said and then his eyes did meet Trowa's – big and expressive. "And it'll be so fucking watertight that I'm going into hiding for a damn long time. I'm not gonna exist so this is the last night I'm a person. Last time I see any of you. Makes sense, I guess, I have fuck all to live for."

Trowa voice was scratchy against his throat. "You'll see Heero. He's as much of a ghost as you are."

Duo laughed. "Not how this works. I'm not gonna risk his life – I'm letting him go. He needs to figure out who he is without my bullshit. He's had ten years of me fucking with his head, we don't need to do this for twenty, thirty years – he needs to be free of me."

He found himself stepping forward, his feet moving of their own volition in the silence of the room. Duo looked vulnerable then, smaller than when he was talking animatedly, when he was grinning, when he was holding a gun and was Shinigami again.

Duo looked up as Trowa approached, his eyes fierce and mouth set in a determined line. "I'm sorry this happened, I didn't mean this shit. I didn't mean to fuck with you, Tro', it just happened, you know?"

"You don't need to apologise," Trowa said, his hand reaching for his jaw, moving to his cheek where a stray strand of hair from the braid lay across it. "I wanted it to happen."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Shoulda just walked away that first time," Duo said softly, his face leaning a little into Trowa's touch.

"We didn't."

"No, ship sailed an' all." Duo's hand went to Trowa's chest, his palm across roughly where his heart was, and they were paused there on the brink of a relationship that they could never have. "I have fuckin' feelings for you, fuck knows why."

"My outgoing personality?"

Duo chuckled. "Naw – because you had the same shitty start and instead of becoming the goddamn worst like me, you made a better choice. You made a family and you raised that kid like your own. I chose death cos' it was easy for me. You chose something better."

Trowa didn't think he made a better decision – just after Quatre there was nowhere better for him to go than the circus and Catherine. And he needed no awards for raising Eli – he'd automatically loved him from the moment he was thrust into his arms as tiny hands wrapped around his fingers.

There was no time to think of what they might've had – a different lifetime where they weren't standing in this situation. Fuck. Trowa had feelings as well, complicated ones, ones that a guy with a braid had created by walking into his life when he needed him. Who'd helped him when no one else could, who'd kissed him hard, who he'd fucked in a cheap hotel room, who'd fucked him in a shower and now stood in front of him, alone, one last time.

"I gotta relieve Heero," Duo said, his hand leaving Trowa's chest.

Trowa reached out as Duo moved to walk away, his arm around his bicep.

"Then we don't have long."

"Tro'?"

He didn't say anything else, just pulled Duo in for a searing kiss – the last chance they'd ever have. They'd never be alone again. Tomorrow they'd be travelling to kill Nabokov with Heero and then Duo would disappear. And although they'd never intended anything to happen between them – never wanted it – it had and they only had a few more hours before Duo would walk out of Trowa's life forever. The thought hurt more than he anticipated so rather than letting it dominate in his mind, he ran his fingers up Duo's t-shirt, slid them against his skin and met his lips with fierce lust.

They made it to the bed for one final moment of slick, hot sex, escaping the realities of the situation by grinding against each other, hands all over each other's bodies, removing clothes and finding themselves naked, together, for the last time. Trowa tried to imprint the experience in his memory as he touched every part of Duo's skin that he could, as he trailed his lips over him, taking his cock into his mouth, trying to make it last, trying to make Duo make all those moans and gasps so that he would be able to think of in the lonely nights to come. He released him from his lips and gazed down at the way Duo looked in the throes of passion, his braid mussed, his eyes dark, his skin shimmering, his hands lodged gently in Trowa's hair and he realised – he could've been in love with him. More than he'd ever been with Quatre, nothing like his random experiences with random guys and nothing like the silent movement of skin with Heero. In a different time and place they could've had something. But it would never be more than a few quick times. A few needy kisses. And it would just be something else he lost in the span of the twenty six years he'd been alive.

They came within moments of each other, the build-up slow and intense, and Trowa collapsed onto the bed, surprised when Duo laid on his chest, that hair tickling his nose and for a few hours, in a temporary apartment in Minsk, with both of their exes in close proximity, Trowa imagined as he drifted to sleep, what they could've had – and what would never be.

 


	14. Endings and Goodbyes

Duo hadn't intended to fall asleep but then he'd not intended to have sex with Trowa again but shit, he'd done both of those things and he moved his head off Trowa's firm muscles, realising how truly fucked he was.

Trowa murmured his name sleepily and briefly, for one goddamn second, Duo thought about just staying in bed with him. It was a stupid idea as their relationship was over before it had even begun but there was that second he could've stayed there – could've laid his head down and listened to Trowa's heartbeat. It would've been torture to do that in the knowledge that it would only be hours until he disappeared. Never to be seen again. Damn.

Instead he slipped out, found his clothes on the floor of the bedroom, sliding into them, black like a second skin, and went to find Heero. The apartment was quiet – the room Eli and Catherine were using silent and he passed the doorway of the living area where Quatre slept. The light of a tablet or phone indicated that he was not asleep but Duo didn't feel like going in or having a heart to heart with him. Trowa's seemed to have fucked him over.

He grabbed a handgun from a bag on the counter, sliding the barrel to check the bullets and then put it in the waistband of his jeans, leaving the apartment quietly. They had another apartment higher in the block, top floor, for surveillance and Heero was there. It didn't work as a room for sleeping in as those top floors were uninhabitable after years of disrepair – left to decay and unused – but Heero had agreed to go up, avoiding all the emotional tension yet again. He was nothing if not predictable.

Duo went up those stairs, feeling the cold all the more intensely as he did. Windows had been smashed and it was clear squatting had happened – something Duo understood. It might be damn cold, but there was a roof and it was safe. On the streets, in his previous life, that was all that mattered.

He knocked on the door rhythmically, a pattern to indicate an ally, and Heero appeared, his eyes meeting Duo's and then letting him in.

"You want sleep?"

Heero shook his head and Duo frowned at him in concern. He could see that Heero didn't want that so he let his face split into a little grin.

"Of course, Superman don't need sleep, right?" He said, teasing, and Heero grunted at the old reference used again and Duo scanned the room. The chair by the window had a sniper rifle with a scope set up, clearly where Heero had been – and Duo pulled up another chair, the wood old and dusty. The window was closed but the place was fucking cold. Duo wondered if Heero still didn't feel that shit. He sure as fuck did. He tried not to show he was shivering but Heero noted it, offered him a blanket over his shoulders that in Duo's stubbornness he refused.

"Anything?"

He wasn't just asking about his period watching the streets below – he saw the laptop open and the information on it flickering on the screen. Nabokov was clever – didn't employ people who linked to him, didn't make it obvious who his connections were to anyone but Heero was cleverer. He was tracking all his bank accounts and every bit of data he could to ensure that their new location or plans hadn't been discovered.

"No," he answered blandly, eyes flirting between screen and window automatically.

Duo shouldn't have expected more from Heero after all these years. He supposed maybe a part of him wanted to have the same fucked up heart to heart that Trowa and Quatre had considering this would be the last time they'd ever be alone together – even just as friends. Less than friends. People that used to be important to each other.

"You can go back to Trowa," Heero said after a few minutes.

"Naw... It's –" Duo began and then stalled. It was too hard to go back now and what would it achieve? Yeah they could fuck one more time but then if they did it just made the next few days even harder. He didn't know how to phrase that or if he wanted to. Didn't know if Heero would understand. He looked down at his hands, out the window, avoided Heero's stare that was fully trained on him.

"He would've been better for you," Heero said, finally.

Duo looked up then and met Heero's eyes, gave him a half smile. "Too late to figure that out now, though."

There was an ominous silence then – everything was too late – it felt too late for an apology to Heero, too late for him to be falling for Trowa and seeing himself in some fucked up relationship with him that could never happen. Duo felt his life entire life was made up of events he was just too damn late for – Solo, the Church, Heero, Trowa...

Least now he'd be alone again. Easier that way, he told himself. Shit if he deserved a chance at happiness after all the people he killed both during the war and after.

"The plan..." Heero started, "are you okay with it?"

"I gotta be, right? It makes sense."

"You lose everything."

"Not the first time," Duo said darkly, thoughts of burning buildings and a lifeless corpse in his head. "'Ro... What do I have left? Fuck, I've got no home, we've been over for years, me and Tro' both know shit ain't gonna happen and then, what...? Cypher? A job where I kill people? There's nothing to give up, 'Ro. There's nothing left."

"You always had me..."

Duo jumped at the touch of Heero's hand on his thigh – an intimate touch that made him stare at his skin and think of all those times, those touches. First time in that goddamn school, the memorable time in Deathscythe's cockpit aboard Peacemillion, their apartment in Sanc, those few moments when they had that "normal" life that Duo had dreamed of. It made a weird feeling settle in his stomach.

"We never were good for each other... No matter how much I loved you."

They never were. Maybe briefly, once, they had that thing that could be defined as a functional relationship but that had long since passed and yet it always came back to Heero in so many ways for him. Maybe he didn't love him like he did, but it didn't have to be romantic love, sexual desire, need for Heero to mean something to him. In their own way they had become family, a twisted, weird version that was not comparative to the one that Trowa had made but Heero was more than a lover, more than a brother, something, someone that had defined Duo's life beyond those people of his formative years. Heero… was Heero. And it was stupid to lean over, for their lips to meet, slowly, unhurried, gentle, and it wasn't a kiss that was sexualised. It wasn't a kiss that would go any further – not like when his lips met Trowa's and Duo felt that spark of arousal and fire, of want and need.

This kiss, with Heero, felt both odd and right – it was goodbye and it was everything. Duo lifted his hand to Heero's cheek, his eyes firmly closed as he felt the soft slide of lips. It was like wearing an old pair of jeans, something familiar and comforting, the way he tasted, the way his skin felt, the way he titled his head, the way his tongue pried his lips apart gently and it was ten years in that kiss.

Ten years that Duo had loved him. And now he had to let that go.

He pulled back, his eyes sliding open again, and he looked cautiously at Heero, afraid that maybe Heero wanted more from him. Duo looked down at the hand on his knee and swallowed before looking back up.

"I'll miss you, 'Ro," he said, sincerity in his voice. "And fuck, I'm sorry for all the years… and everything I did."

Heero moved his hand, the slide of it leaving his thigh feeling like it trailed a burning heat. "I was in the relationship too."

"Yeah but –"

"Don't. Not now."

Duo nodded, gazed out the window as the sun began to rise and his heart felt too big for his chest. Not now. In another time, in another place, where Rio hadn't happened, maybe they would've been together but there was no point in rehashing that or saying anything else. Fuck, they could talk about it. They could go over it again and again but nothing was going to change the things that had happened between them.

"'Ro?"

"Yeah?"

His eyes scanned the room, the expensive surveillance equipment that Heero had managed to acquire through contacts from parts unknown, his whole avoidance of discussing the nature of his work and the fact that he was still able to hack pretty much every system that was invented – and he asked the question he'd never before asked.

"What do you do? I mean, I've had theories… but I guess… you must be working for Prev or Relena or something."

"I consult."

The answer was said with an ever so slight smug look on Heero's face and Duo gave a small chuckle.

"And that means?"

"You don't need to know," Heero said, deadpan.

Duo could only smile and shake his head a little, sitting with Heero in the cold of the shitty apartment until it was time, the hours passing quietly, companionable despite the lingering kiss on his lips. The world woke up around them, the streets with the occasional person passing, heading to work or home from work and it soon became apparent that they had survived the night undetected and it was now time for Quatre to call in his "people" to aid in the removal of Catherine and Eli off-planet.

They dismantled the room, Duo helping get the equipment together and making sure there was no real evidence of them having been there. Briefly, Duo thought about wiping down surfaces and going to that level of extreme but then he paused and realised that maybe it was needed that there had been evidence leading to him. He wasn't sure how Heero was working it but damn, it was all going to lead back to him.

The apartment was sombre despite the fact that everyone was awake. Heero departed for a shower and breakfast was being laid out in the kitchen – the supplies Duo had arranged with Cypher's contact, a few bagels and some black coffee, stale muffins. It wasn't much but eating provided a brief respite from the tension.

The adults had seemed to congregate in the kitchen, all of them picking at food, awkwardly moving around each other to get coffee. Duo knew why they were staying out of the living room as he'd passed the scene in there on his way back into the apartment.

Eli, as any kid did, knew the tension between the adults and was colouring on the floor with Trowa watching, a cup of coffee half-drunk in his fingers. Duo wondered about going in but then Trowa needed his moment with his nephew and he was going to respect that. Plus, what the hell could he say to make this any easier? It was his family and in a worst case scenario, they may never see one another again. A scenario that Duo was not thinking of but it wasn't just Eli and Catherine that were in danger – they were about to enter the swanky high tech penthouse of a psychotic billionaire. Fuck knew if they'd all survive.

Catherine made conversation, weakly, half-hearted attempts that no one reciprocated – Quatre was polite but it was all so damn awkward it made Duo's skin crawl and a part of him looked forward to the arrival of Quatre's security team to get it all done with. Then the three of them could distribute the weapons and continue their journey to complete the rest of the plan – the journey to St. Petersburg and Nabokov's home.

The buzz of a cell phone disturbed Duo's thoughts as Quatre brought out the device from his hoodie pocket. Duo had confirmed with him when they'd met at the bistro that he had encrypted devices and Quatre had looked vaguely offended. It was not Duo's fault that he perceived him as having lost some of the skills that had made him a Gundam pilot – after all, unlike Duo, he'd given up a life of violence the day they exploded their Gundams in that clearing. It was reasonable to doubt.

"Twenty minutes," he said as he looked at the screen and Duo left the kitchen to inform Trowa.

He stopped in the doorway as it seemed like he was interfering or it wasn't just seemed. He was. As Trowa was on the floor with Eli talking softly to the little boy and Duo found himself both smiling and choking up as Trowa gave him orders – orders to look after his mom, orders to not be scared, orders to not miss him.

"Remember you always have to do what Quatre tells you or the men who are with you, okay? Always follow orders."

Eli was nodding and Trowa looked up then, his eyes meeting Duo's and it hurt to look at him. Fuck. Today had been hard on so many levels for Duo – waking up next to Trowa after a hot sweaty night of sex and then the conversation with Heero but Trowa had it worse. He was holding it together pretty damn well, though – had to give him credit for that.

"Twenty minutes 'til you move out little dude," Duo said, his eyes meeting Eli's. "Gotta get your stuff together."

The little boy looked at his uncle and Trowa nodded. The kid got up, leaving Duo alone with Trowa briefly and Trowa got up from his position on the floor, collecting Eli's books and putting them into his small rucksack for the journey.

"They'll be fine – we can trust Quat."

Duo spoke to fill the silence, like he always did, and he approached, one last moment alone he figured. Trowa looked up from his task as Duo walked over and answered.

"Yeah."

There was nothing left to say so he just put his hands to Trowa's face for one final kiss, burning Heero off his lips until the sound of coded knocking was at the door. While it was early, there was a certain part of Duo that was glad he didn't have to say anything. Instead, all he had to do was walk away from the kiss and it was a better way to say goodbye. Great irony, really, Duo Maxwell, always had something to say now finding it easier to say nothing at all. Huh. Maybe Heero had rubbed off on him after ten years. Maybe this brief spell with Trowa told him to just keep his damn mouth shut.

A few moments later, Quatre walked in, accompanied by Heero, freshly dressed, his hair still damp from a shower, and a familiar man he'd not seen for years.

"I think you all know my new head of security," Quatre said.

Duo felt his mouth open a little before he composed himself enough to make a sarcastic comment. "Hell, now we have the whole band back together."

"Maxwell," said Chang Wufei, his black eyes meeting Duo's with an accompanying nod. He looked towards Trowa who didn't let any surprise cross his face at the arrival of the final of their wartime comrades coming back into their lives. "Barton."

"Wufei," Trowa acknowledged.

"I understand your family needs protection."

The words were a statement and Duo scanned the man they'd all not seen for so damn long. The one who had entirely cut himself off from their pasts in order to make a different future.

He wore the casual jeans, a grey trench coat, his hair still slicked back into the severe ponytail of his teens, though a pair of thin, wired glasses covered his eyes. His voice was still as Duo remembered it – calm and level most of the time – though he also remembered the sound of his battle cry in the midst of those last few days of the war.

Trowa nodded and an awkwardness descended on the room that was palpable. Blue eyes scanned the room, settling on Quatre, dressed as a teenager rather than the billionaire he was, to Heero who leaned against a wall casually, like Duo remembered him doing so many times before, to Trowa who was eyeing Wufei warily, and then finally to the fifth member of their "team," Wufei who had returned at the very last moment. It was a weird reunion under extreme circumstances.

"I thought you never wanted to see any of us again," Duo said, finally, unable to just stand there, his eyes looking at Wufei critically.

"Winner informed me of this situation," he said, his dark eyes meeting Duo's with a hint of latent aggression. "I may have said that at eighteen but our experiences during the war unite us. If I'd been needed by any one of you, I would've come. You are all clever enough to find me."

There was slight sneer in the way Wufei said the word clever, Duo unsure if it was directed at him. But there was no time for a full reunion, no time to sit down and discuss their lives as then Catherine was in the doorway with Eli, apparently ready to leave.

Eli looked up at Wufei, unsure, not that Duo could blame the kid – after all he'd had all the former Gundam pilots enter his life in rapid succession. It was enough to make Duo's head hurt never mind a five year old kid. But it was now time for the final goodbye, and Trowa was on his knees in front of his nephew, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"This is Wufei – he was a Gundam pilot too," Trowa explained, his eyes glancing up to the Chinese man. "He'll protect you along with Quatre."

This made Eli look less concerned but there was still an expression that was troubled. It really didn't suit such a young kid to look like that and Duo looked away, looked out the window. Shit, he felt damn emotional and he'd only been helping Trowa for a few weeks.

"Remember everything I said?"

The little boy nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Now say goodbye to Duo and Heero."

This surprised Duo a little, as Eli approached and he got down to his knees instinctively as the kid wrapped his arms around him tight. It was so different to that first time he'd met Eli, the shy little boy who he'd offered toys to, now the kid was in his arms, warm and fragile. The entire reason they were all together once again. He moved back on his haunches from the hug and looked Eli in the eye.

"You look after your mom, you hear?"

Eli smiled and agreed, then turned towards Heero. Duo looked up at his ex – remembering how he'd felt about kids in the past, how he'd reacted to those dead kids in Rio, and Heero didn't kneel, didn't get down to his level but Eli didn't seem to care and wrapped his arms around Heero's legs in a hug. Heero, still so damn unsure how to react, gently touched the boys head, ruffled his hair and it was more than Duo would've thought him capable of for damn years. And it proved to Duo that though he'd always felt Heero needed him... what if he didn't? What if he never really had?

The thought he damped down, tried to forget as soon as it had surfaced, but Heero didn't damn need him anymore. And maybe Duo had just wanted it to feel like Heero did as it gave him some damn purpose. Something to hold onto. Something akin to family.

Eli let go, ran over to Trowa for one last hug where he was scooped up into his uncle's arms and carried out of the room, his backpack collected by his mother, colouring books and toys inside. Catherine looked up, her eyes meeting Duo's and then Heero's. She mouthed a quiet 'thank you' that looked more like an apology than anything else and left the room.

"Guess this is goodbye again," Quatre said, softly, his eyes flickering between Heero and Duo.

Duo didn't reply that it would be forever, only walked forward and they shared an awkward hug, Duo slapping him on the back a little before they parted. It was Heero's turn then, the shake of hands more formal, the murmuring of each other's names as they had done when they met.

"Maxwell," Wufei said, his head inclining in his direction, "Yuy."

Their names were accompanied by a curt nod in goodbye as it could've been in greeting and while in another time, in another place, the five of them could've met over beer, could've talked about their lives, they had no opportunity. Wufei wasn't wearing a wedding ring so Duo assumed that hadn't happened but hell, he knew nothing that had happened in the intervening years. They had been united once, so long ago, by war and fate. They were reunited only briefly.

They left and Duo felt his body sag, the emotional shit of the last few hours draining him more than a goddamn battle. He glanced over to Heero who'd taken a seat on the couch, his eyes looking down at the floor. Huh. Seemed he wasn't the only one. He couldn't hear words from the hallway but could hear voices, didn't need to know what was being said, didn't want to think of what Catherine and Trowa would say to each other. Yet when it was done, the door closed and Trowa returned to the room, his face was impassive but Duo could tell there was more underneath, emotions hidden just below the surface.

"So I guess it's time for us to go kill this fucker?" Duo said, a fake smirk on his face, a lightness in his voice that he didn't feel.

Neither Heero nor Trowa answered. There was nothing else left to say.

 


	15. Break In

It had been a long time since Trowa had thought in terms of completing a mission. Everything that had happened so far had been a reaction to anything that Nabokov had done – it had been a necessary chain of events, an equal and opposite reaction. He'd done what he had to do. Now Trowa was thinking about violence and death in a more calculating way – a less instinctual way – and that was something he'd left behind.

Or at least he thought he had, thought he'd walked away from it but it was still there, just as it had been there in the forest, when he'd been covered in blood and killed for the first time in so damn long.

It had also been a long time since Trowa had used his infiltration skills, a long time since he had been trying to sneak into a building or an OZ barracks or whatever other location that had been required. It was a long time but it was not something easily forgotten – yet he supposed he'd used them on occasion at the circus, sneaking up on Eli and tapping his shoulder, his nephew looking around in amazement and Trowa had tried to teach him the art of being silent. It had been a game between them – ganging up together to sneak up on Catherine and her being annoyed in a good humoured fashion. Complaining about 'her boys' but she gave Trowa that smile that said she was glad, happy, that they were playing even if she didn't entirely approve of being made to scream as she was startled by their silent approaches.

Now he was using his stealth skills for not so innocent purposes, wearing an elevator maintenance contractor uniform in an unattractive shade of brown and round his neck lanyards documenting his identity and a card key that granted him access to multiple locations in the building.

He was in Nabokov's building – the heart of his empire – an apartment complex in the middle of St. Petersburg. The building was impressive. It had an old exterior, built some time pre-colony during a period of highly decorative architecture but the old exterior was deceptive – Trowa knew this as Heero had shown them blueprints on a laptop screen that documented the security systems – the vault, the codes required to run the elevators, the metal detectors and scanners that people passed through in the entrances.

Nabokov owned the building, his apartment spanning the entire top floor, the penthouse, and the rest of the apartments were owned by the rich or those that were moderately rich comparatively. Not rich enough to own an elaborate building in the middle of St Petersburg but rich enough to own a small part of it.

Trowa felt awkward in the uniform, a little short in the leg, the shirt a little too tight as usually, in his own attempts at infiltration, he believed it vital to have every element of the cover in place. To look correct. To look anonymous and blank and completely innocuous. Small details fucked with that. People noticed that – something different, something odd – and the ill-fitting uniform suggested something. He'd tried it on the previous night, Duo giving him a look with a raised eyebrow, appraising him, and Heero had ignored it.

Last night he'd selected what other items he wanted to take with him, an array of weaponry laid out on floral bedcovers in a cheap hotel. It was a weird image and Trowa had selected only a blade, long, and a sheath he could attempt to hide. The tightness of his uniform made it difficult to hide a gun. Duo had questioned that as well, that quirk of his lips that made him want to fuck him, pin him against a wall and make him moan – but instead he'd answered him, dampened down the thoughts of Duo naked and wanting him. It had done them no good.

"I only need a knife."

It was all he'd wanted from the numerous weapons that Heero had acquired and it was then, as he ran his fingers over semi-automatic machine guns, flash bangs and handguns, that he looked up at Heero who was steadfastly concentrating on the laptop screen in front of him.

"How did you get all this?" Trowa had asked.

Heero had only given a small smile and turned from his screen briefly. "I have people."

If Duo had said the same phrase it would've been a little funny – the words from Heero sounded vaguely sinister and Trowa just nodded. Last night had been the last time Trowa knew that he would touch Duo and Heero had given them a few opportunities over the last couple of days. It was nothing more than a few brief kisses – each one making it harder. They both acknowledged it was a stupid idea but somehow found themselves drawn to each other.

Trowa now had to stop thinking about Duo in any other terms than being part of this mission as Duo was walking out of his life the moment the mission was complete. The moment he put a bullet through Alexei Nabokov's heart.

Trowa gritted his teeth, angry still at the plan despite knowing it all made sense. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to do it with his own bare hands – having not felt this level of anger in his life since the time spent around the man who had formerly been Trowa Barton – an arrogant fucker that had made him uncomfortable and Trowa had been glad to see dead on the walkway of mobile suit hanger.

His brief feeling of anger, of being out of control of the situation again, abated as he walked through the back entrance to the building easily, escorted by a balding middle-aged man who owned the maintenance contract for the building – a highly lucrative and well paid position. The back entrance, just as the front, had metal detectors and scanners but the man bypassed them, letting Trowa pass through, his knife not making the detectors bleep.

There was an important thing Trowa had learnt in life and especially in the act of infiltration and it was that people were easily manipulated. And that entering any place – any base, military facility or fancy mansion, was all about having something to trade or bribe. This time it was money – the easiest of all bribes – and Heero had acquired cash, rubles, handed over in a padded envelope.

The other thing that Trowa had learnt about people was that those who had plenty, who had wealth, money, and a lifestyle that the rest of the population envied, were often people who were greedy and wanted more. As he followed the maintenance contractor along a corridor under the pretence of being shown to the service elevator that needed servicing, Trowa was preparing to act, walking past rooms and observing them as he did.

As Nabokov's building was so damn exclusive, everything from a large laundry facility, a maid service, a pet care area, a nursery for children, and a kitchen that could provide most meals at short notice was available. Trowa guessed that this was what it was like to be hyper-rich and to live in what essentially acted as a hotel that people owned apartments in. And it made him think briefly of Quatre. Despite all his wealth, despite the responsibilities of his company, Quatre had never become this. It made him respect him a little bit more.

The man was talking and Trowa's Russian was rusty at best, but he answered with a few mumbled "yeses" as they finally approached a location that Trowa felt secure enough in to act. While the security was not as numerous in the employee areas as in the main area of the building, Trowa had watched all the security cameras as he passed them, his eyes counting them and remembering all of Heero's blueprints. There had been blind spots pointed out, Heero talking slowly through the areas where it would be safe to do what Trowa was about to do. Duo had rolled his eyes at Heero's caution. It was why Duo wasn't doing this part of the mission as, though his methods as a hit-man were effective, they were ever so slightly flashier and more noticeable and everything was about getting them to where they needed to be without it being reported to Nabokov.

Trowa reached for the man suddenly, the man turning and about to start speaking when Trowa punched, his fist hard in the guy's solar plexus, the wind taken out of him and he briefly remembered using the move on Duo so that he could pass over the small device that showed the scientists' progress on Deathscythe and Shenlong. The guy's eyes bugged, the punch hard enough to make him slump to the floor, and Trowa removed the security card from the man's lanyard – his access superior and to all the rooms in the building – and then used the card to open a nearby door. He'd been waiting to see that particular door – the warning for chemicals and potential fire hazards shown – and he dragged the man to what acted as a large cleaning supplies cupboard, the smell of bleach and disinfectant filling his lungs.

It was the first person he'd injured that was entirely unnecessary. The man might have remained silent – might have not said anything about his bribe by a tall man – but then when money was a motivating factor, Trowa was unsure about loyalty and did not want to risk the man saying anything. As well as being ruthless, Nabokov had been excellent at bribing people, a thing Trowa had found out in the intervening years since the fateful meeting and the present day. He had the Russian government eating out of his hand. Any of his activities were turned a blind eye to as he financed projects for the poverty stricken and starving. He was a manipulator. It made Trowa cautious, as he dumped the man to floor and closed the door, checking his watch to see the time and then making his way towards the hub of the building.

Trowa knew the plan – knew it by heart, that in his pocket he had a flash drive that he would insert into the security terminals that would release a virus that would disrupt the building's security systems and descend the building into darkness – and in the disruption that included making the scanners fail, Duo and Heero would enter. Heero would make his way to the security room, ensure that all evidence of Trowa's identity was removed, and then he would edit the feeds to make sure it documented Duo doing everything. It was then that Trowa was meant to leave, meant to step aside, his entire role to get into the building to set this up – for him to use his Russian, use his anonymity and put his repressed infiltration skills to good use so that Duo could make his way up to that penthouse, Heero following after the systems had been hacked. Then Nabokov would be killed and Heero would plant whatever evidence was needed.

It sounded flawless, simple, when spoken of in hotel rooms but then Trowa knew he was not following the plan and had no intention of doing that. He'd agreed. He had looked Duo in those big blue eyes and said he understood why it was him who had to kill Alexei Nabokov. And he understood why he'd made those entreaties, not with words, but with looks, as for some reason Duo thought Trowa better than him. Yet after everything the man had put him and his family through, Trowa had stopped damn caring. He held onto the memory of hugging his nephew one last time, remembered how he felt in his arms in the hallway, and if this meant he was a dead man or not a dead man, imprisoned or on the run, then he would do it. As he had wanted Duo and Heero's help, needed it, but in the end it was him that was going to finish this.

He wondered if Duo would be disappointed. Guessed he would. Remembered his speech about Trowa being better than he was but right now, Trowa didn't want to be better. And he wasn't going to let Duo kill the man that had ruined the life that they once had.

It was now time to get even. And Trowa didn't care. He walked down the corridor to the security room, expecting some resistance, the card key swiping and for a second the two men at the consoles didn't react to the new person in the room. A second later they did – questioning him in Russian – and Trowa then did like he'd been trained to do so long ago, grabbing hold of one of the men from behind, his arm tight around his throat, the airway cut off by his strength. The other man fumbled with his weapon, his words hurried, but he was not difficult to disarm, letting the other man breathe and grabbing the gun to use the butt of his weapon against the back of his head and allowing him to fall to the ground. The other man used his partner's distraction to attempt to regroup but his breathing was heavy, his hands weak, and Trowa reapplied pressure, feeling him struggle until he was unconscious on the floor.

With the two men slumped on the floor, Trowa kicked one a little further out of the way, heard an exhale from the body, and he pulled out a chair to sit, bringing out the flash drive that would disrupt the security system. As he inserted the drive, he input a code and let a small smile cross his face. 010203. Oddly fitting. He'd disliked his OZ call sign as they all had – reduced to merely numbers – but then it reminded him of that time, when they were soldiers fighting for the colonies.

He knew that he didn't have much time and Trowa exited, not bothering to avoid stamping on the men on the floor, glad of their incompetence. It was unlikely to remain that way as he left the security room, the place in darkness now, a thin emergency lighting system turned on but not providing enough light to see clearly by. Perfect.

Nabokov lived on the top floor, the entire top floor of the building, and Trowa was glad that he did not live in a modern skyscraper as he climbed the stairs, the elevators out of commission. A few residents appeared at the stairs, asked him a few questions and he was answering them, looking like nothing more than the maintenance worker he was meant to be.

He wondered if Nabokov knew – Trowa finding it hard to believe he didn't as he climbed until finally he was at the landing that led to the apartment of the man he intended to kill.

The door had an electronic locking system which had released due to the disruption of the security system and it hung open a little. Trowa approached it with the necessary caution, pushing it slightly and drawing out his blade.

The blade felt good in his hand, felt sturdy and violent, and he walked in, holding to loosely in his right palm, ready to kill – to stab, to throw if necessary.

They had estimated that Nabokov employed six elite mercs as bodyguards who stayed on the premises at all times – a scan through one of his hidden accounts providing this intel as large amounts of money was transferred on a regular basis to Swiss accounts registered to men whose names didn't exist. And while Trowa knew these guys would be tougher than anyone he'd killed so far, the feelings involved and the anger would make it damn easy.

The penthouse plans were in Trowa's head despite the fact he was not supposed to have any part of this plan and he walked slowly, his footsteps not making any noise against thick plush carpeting, the whole place silent in a way he didn't like. He walked, instinctively twirling the blade, and he felt the uncomfortable sense of being watched in the darkness. The corridor led him to the main room of the penthouse, past the doors that opened to a personal gym, a large bathroom, one of the bedrooms. He saw light in the darkness, flickering, which he guessed was from a fireplace or an imitation one, and he rounded a corner to the main room, immediately hearing the click of a loaded weapon near his head. He reacted as he could, an elbow to the face, hard, and the gun and the man dropped. But he then felt his legs taken out from under him, a foot on his wrist where his knife was, pushing down so that it was released out of his grasp and he heard the cock of another weapon, looking up to see four men surrounding him.

"Help him up and cuff him."

Trowa heard the voice as he was brought to his feet roughly, his uniform grasped tightly and he grimaced at the sound of that voice. Alexei Nabokov's English was flawless if not heavily accented and Trowa snarled as his hands were brought in front of him, cuffs snapping over his wrists, thick ones that looked like the ones OZ had used on Lunar Base. Probably ex-military stock.

"Bring our guest over."

The smooth tone was infuriating and Trowa was pushed in the direction of the voice, to where he sat – a large armchair in front of a fire that must've been fake, another chair opposite obviously intended for Trowa.

It had been a long time since Trowa had seen the other man – not since the legal proceedings – and in his head he had made him seem bigger, more powerful, a more intimidating threat. Yet now he was only a man – a well-dressed man, his suit pinstripe, his hair slicked back and his shoes shining in the low light – and men could bleed.

"Take a seat, Trowa, I believe it has been a long time."

He felt like baring his teeth but refrained and took the seat, a weapon still pointed at his head, the threat heavy handed and obvious but effective.

"You really thought you'd come into my home and kill me? I find that concept... Amusing."

Nabokov smirked and reached for a glass of alcohol – clear – vodka Trowa guessed, some kind of Russian cliché, and the ice clinked around the sides as he took a sip. Trowa's eyes narrowed as he watched him – looked at his face. He was good-looking but arrogant with it – knew why Catherine had fallen for him, knew he was gorgeous and charming, or he had been up until the pregnancy.

He looked at him critically, tried to see if he saw any resemblance between the man in front of him and his nephew and thankfully he didn't. Eli looked like Catherine – not the man in front of him – and even if there was a hint of his complexion, his dark eyes, Trowa was loathe to admit it.

"I'd offer you a drink but I don't think you'll accept my hospitality. Too much water under the bridge."

Trowa glared – not intending to say anything, not intending to give Nabokov anything.

"I liked that you tried, I really do. That you thought you could break in, that you could sneak in and disrupt my systems. You don't seem to understand that even the lowest person in my organisation is loyal to me." He paused, took another swig of his drink, downing the rest in the glass. "But I let you get in. Wanted this. Wanted us to talk before… never mind. I'm sure you know you won't get out of here alive. And neither will your… war buddies?"

"Try to kill me."

"Oh, don't worry, I intend to, but first I'd like to know what you did with my son."

"He's not yours," Trowa said, his tone fierce, protective. "He's never been yours."

"We have the DNA to prove that he is," he said. "Now tell me where I find him and I promise I won't hurt your dear _sister_. I'll even let her stay with him. After all, what more does a boy need that both his mother and father?"

The words were meant to sting. Trowa didn't need blood to be Eli's family as family wasn't about blood. Family was not about the circumstances of birth as Trowa didn't know those. Family to him was about choice – about choosing who to care for, who to love and who to protect.

"Why now? You didn't want him for so long."

"I'm dying," he said blandly as though commenting on the weather.

The words were meant to be shocking, Trowa supposed, but instead Trowa just levelled his coldest glare at the man rather than impart any sympathy.

"I am undergoing some experimental treatments that are prolonging my life and my son has the same blood type as myself…" Nabokov said, the rest of the sentence left hanging.

Yet it had suddenly become clear, all too damn late as Trowa felt his stomach clench, his fingers itching to strangle the man opposite him as  _that_  was why he was interested in Eli. Not some fatherly concern – not some misguided belief that a boy belonged with his father – and Trowa felt anger like he'd never felt before as he thought of Eli, his body in a bed, blood being pumped out of him and that was why Nabokov had suddenly taken an interest in his child.

Prior to that, Nabokov had wanted nothing to do with Eli, nothing to do with Catherine, and no money was provided, no support, and every little thing had been paid for between Trowa and Catherine. Harsh words were said. Things about a "money grabbing whore" after which Trowa had been stopped from punching him in the damn face. And now that he was dying, Eli's blood might be what he damn well needed. Trowa's hands shook in the cuffs.

"I won't tell you anything," he spat.

"Do you think I won't ever find out? Maybe, if three of you former Gundam pilots are back together, maybe you're using the others. Winner perhaps? I can imagine he's a lucrative contact to have."

Trowa briefly felt a shiver run up his spine – Quatre's identity as a former Gundam pilot had been hidden entirely as it was bad for his business. To have that level of information was unsettling. He glared and scowled.

"I'm not going to give you that information. You can torture me – I don't give a damn."

"Good. As that's what I plan on doing."

He stood and motioned towards one of his men, bald, burly, tattooed, and Trowa tensed as they approached, the weapon still levelled at his head. There was little he could do – could stall, could attempt to give Duo and Heero time but it meant that he would have to endure whatever pain Nabokov wanted to inflict as he would die before he gave up anything. Futile thoughts ran around his head but as the man approached, Trowa made his decision. He'd sworn as a child he would never not fight back, cuffed and outnumbered – didn't matter, and he kept his promise as he smashed his elbow towards the man with the gun, his nose shattering under the pressure and he was on his feet, ready to shoulder-barge the tattooed heavy.

Trowa was about to act when an explosion rocked the building, loud, intense, and he fell to the floor. It suddenly appeared that the one system that was still working kicked into effect – sprinklers misting the room with water. He blinked, his hair in his eyes, and looked up – reached with cuffed hands for Nabokov sprawled on the floor. He was going to attempt to kill the fucker, gun or no gun, hands cuffed or not.

 


	16. The Final Cut

"– the fuck?"

Duo felt angry, more than that as Trowa was not waiting in the control room. The virus had been uploaded, the main systems were all down, but Trowa was not there.

"He's gone to Nabokov."

Heero was sitting at the console, the unconscious men dragged out and dumped in the corridor without care.

"No shit," Duo spat, angrily grabbing for his weapon in his waistband, checking it with rough impatience before returning it.

"Duo," Heero said in a low growl, a warning, but Duo just shrugged.

"This wasn't the plan."

Heero response was blunt, his eyes cold. "It's his family."

It was as though that explained it all – Heero turning back towards the control panel and ignoring Duo entirely. It did though – explained the whole goddamn thing as really, Duo had loved and lost enough damn people in his young life and if he'd had the chance to do something, he'd take it. He just didn't expect Trowa to do what he did. Then again, as he'd acknowledged, he'd fucked the guy a couple of times – what did he really know? It stung, somewhere deep down, and Duo leaned down for the bag at Heero's feet.

Heero raised one defined eyebrow in response but Duo ignored him as he brought out charges, plastic explosives – shit they didn't think they would need but had with them. It seemed now they would. There was a question on Heero's face as he keyed in code, visible on the screen, bringing up the security footage, and that was when Duo saw Trowa – a gun to his head, surrounded by Nabokov's men, his hands tied in front of him, vulnerable. They could kill him at any damn point. Yet they hadn't, he could see the man on the screen, the man that was Alexei Nabokov who started all this and Duo gritted his teeth, his decision truly made.

"What are you going to do?" Heero asked, his voice wary – as it needed to be.

"Distraction."

Duo didn't say anything else – could say he wanted to make fireworks or see it all go kaboom but it wasn't time for a witty comment. Just time for some action.

'Huh, maybe Trowa did rub off on me and all,' Duo thought as he grabbed up the required items, but he stalled for a second, looked back at Heero, sitting straight-backed, his eyes darting across the screens, his fingers working across keyboards and it was weird to see him like that.

Made him remember him at fifteen – a time warp or something and Duo didn't know if he needed to say goodbye. Really say goodbye. But he just opened the door – avoided stepping on the bodies on the floor and began to walk swiftly to set off a distraction.

He hoped that it would bide Trowa some time. He hoped it would give him the opportunity to march in, all guns blazing, and shoot the fucker. Also to give Trowa a piece of his mind – that he was worth more than killing the motherfucker. Trowa was better than him. He held onto that notion, that idea, as he set up explosives, those skills unused for so long. Really, as a hit man it was about subtlety. Duo was about to use a method that was the equivalent to a sledgehammer and quite frankly, he didn't give a fuck. It would work. Hell, it would work.

And it would be fun. Maybe Duo didn't get chance to use his skills with explosives but he hadn't forgot shit.

There were plenty of times that Duo had been accused of not being the smartest – he still remembered Wufei's hinted comment – and though it wasn't damn true a part of him liked the fact he was doubted a little. That he was underestimated as that meant when he wired up explosives, placed at a pressure point in the building, it wasn't expected and it rocked the place, the entirety of the old building shaking from the charge and Duo was far enough away to revel in the violence of the explosion while remaining in relative safety.

The explosions caused the emergency systems to kick in and suddenly Duo felt the water trickle down onto him, the emergency sprinklers activated because of the flash point of heat and he got to his feet, feeling the cold water soak his clothing and braid immediately. He had felt worse than the sudden onslaught of water from above but he could imagine the residents of some swanky ass apartment complex hadn't. The panic was what he needed. Duo smirked, reached not for the gun but the blade he'd acquired. Now it was time to do what he'd damn well appeared out of nowhere for. This was it. Kill the target.

The residents fled, everyone travelling in the opposite direction of Duo as he ascended the stairs. Few paid him attention though he kept his blade hidden, tight to his thigh, as the sprinklers continued to pour from above, the plush carpeting soaked through under foot.

It felt like other times – sneaking into rich men's homes, ready to stab a knife through someone's heart – kill, take a life, unleash Shinigami. And that's what Trowa had wanted – why he'd called and asked for him – because he wanted death for Nabokov. Wanted him bleeding out and dying and suffering – and Duo could do that. Hell, could he do that.

The top floor was something Duo had memorised and when he arrived he was rushed by some idiot – young maybe, inexperienced – but his blade slid in, his knife in the stomach and Duo twisted, pulled out. The guy slumped and Duo wiped the blade along the black denim, unseen, as the water diluted the blood and he looked up through his bangs as a gun was fired, a handgun, and Duo ducked, rolled to the floor, brought out his gun and fired back, smirking as he did.

The tension of the last few days melted as Duo surrendered to that side of himself he'd kept tamed during the emotional tension of the type they'd been working through the past few days. Now he let loose, raised his gun as he rose to stand, a low crouch as he fired at the men who attempted to kill him.

Today wasn't the day Duo Maxwell died. It was the day he disappeared into nothingness but he was not leaving a corpse – however fucking beautiful it would be.

The door to the penthouse remained opened where a body lay prone, water still pouring from the ceiling as Duo stepped over a man, groaning, when he heard the sounds of a struggle and he sped up – damn caution to the wind. Duo knew he could be stealthy but now was not time for that – now was time to act and think after as he couldn't be too late – Trowa couldn't be dead or bleeding. He thought about Eli, about that last hug and his stomach churned and Trowa was more important than he'd ever be because of that little guy. That little guy needed him and loved him and that was all that mattered.

Duo rounded the corner and saw Trowa on his knees, a gun to his head, Nabokov standing overhead, an angry snarl on his face, two heavies – one bleeding from his nose and the other holding Trowa's shoulders as he looked up defiantly, his long bang stuck to his face due to the water.

It was the element of surprise that Duo needed and so he acted, the gun firing and taking out the guy holding Trowa, the shock of the bullet and the slumping body giving Trowa the opportunity to swing his legs around and take Nabokov to the floor. Duo fired again, taking out the other guy as he saw Trowa scramble for Nabokov's dropped weapon, kicking it out of reach.

Duo approached, gun raised and pointed at Nabokov – who didn't look afraid.

"Hands where I can see 'em, asshole."

Nabokov sat up. The water had made his suit cling. His smile though was still there, a sneer in fact, and Duo didn't like it so he lashed out with the butt of his gun – a spray of blood arcing from his mouth and he slumped back, a groan of pain. He should just damn well shoot but he reached for Trowa, his wrists cuffed, though he kept one eye on Nabokov as he brought out a lock pick from his pocket.

"Didn't think you'd still carried that shit," Trowa said softly as the cuffs popped open.

Duo cocked his head, quirked his lips. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Nabokov moved to a sitting position, the back of his hand wiping his bloody mouth and he spoke, rough and harsh.

"You don't have time now – the police will be here to arrest you even if you kill me. You still lose them, Barton. My men are everywhere in this country and you will rot in a prison and suffer every pain imaginable and so your  _sister_  will still suffer and  _my son_  will grow up angry and violent. You didn't do anything. You didn't protect him."

Duo watched, dumbfounded, not expecting Trowa's actions. His blade, loose in his hand, was suddenly not there and he felt it leave his grip but Trowa was fast and silent and deadly, driving the knife deep into Nabokov's chest – so fucking deep.

"He was never your son," Trowa whispered as he pulled the knife out, blood rushing and Nabokov had nothing to say – no capacity to say anything as he bled out, the red mixing with water and tainting the plush white carpeting.

Trowa slumped then and Duo grabbed at him, getting him to his damn feet, his hands covered with blood, his clothes – the stupid maintenance guy's uniform all red and Duo shook him.

"Fuck, that was not how it was supposed to be!"

Trowa only murmured softly. "It's my family."

Duo wanted to shout, to scream, but Nabokov was right – they had to get out.

"Go then, asshole, get outta here!"

Trowa looked slightly dazed, his eyes glancing to where Nabokov was dead and bleeding and defeated and Duo shook him, grabbing at the taller man's shoulders.

"Go!" Duo shouted, water in his face, blood on him – not sure if it was the heavies' or Nabokov's. "You need ta fucking leave!"

Duo was shouting the words over the sound of sprinklers and his throat felt raw and he wondered if he could hear the wailing of sirens and a lump was in his throat and a stinging in his eyes as he looked up. He didn't shout – this time he begged.

"Go, Trowa."

Trowa regained the composure required and nodded, the knife falling to the floor, and his bloody, wet hands touched Duo's cheek and it didn't matter that there was blood on them as they kissed one final time as it seemed fitting – blood and death and a kiss goodbye.

And Trowa backed off. Said nothing else as he turned to leave, seeing Heero in the doorway. There was one brief touch between them as Trowa walked away and then he was gone and Duo closed his eyes, raised his face up to the ceiling hoping that the sprinkler water would cleanse him or make him feel damn better but it didn't. The only thing that did was Trowa's touch and with a growing sickness, Duo knew he'd never feel it again.

He felt Heero, sensed him, a touch on his arm.

"You go too."

Duo opened his eyes and looked at Heero, his blue eyes deep and sad, maybe, and Duo shook his head.

"Go – I can deal with this," Heero said softly, his head inclined to indicate the room and he put his hands onto Duo's shoulders, forcing him to look at him closely.

"They won't get me. Go."

Duo wavered but took a step back, Heero's hands falling off his shoulders and now that would be his last moment with him – his first love, his shadow. Duo blinked back water in his eyes – not fucking tears – and turned, grabbed a gun from one of the prone bodies on the floor and hurtled down the plush stairwell, his eyes blurred and his breathing ragged.

He was outside quickly, bursting into the cold night air, running fast, so damn fast so that he felt nothing but his body straining and exertion and not the pain of his last brush of lips with Trowa or Heero's fingertips disappearing off his shoulders.

The night was so damn cold and eventually he stopped, an alleyway, and he leaned against stonework, the sound of the river not so far away and he fell to the ground, the hard cobbled pathway, and he shivered, so fucking cold – the wet clothing and saturated braid not helping. He curled up, wrapped his arms around his knees and felt his breath come in short, uncontrolled bursts as he tried to regain some control. But Duo felt himself sob, like he hadn't damn done since the church as once again he'd lost everything he loved and he was alone in the cold darkness of a violent night.

 


	17. Epilogue - The Escape

The private shuttle port was practically empty apart from a skeleton ground crew and a few men that Trowa recognised as Maganacs. The shuttle outside was a bucket of bolts – an ex-Alliance cruiser that could be classed generously as a rust bucket – however while it was old, it was sound, that Trowa could see. For a second he doubted why they'd come – Eli was holding Catherine's hand as they stood a little behind him. Then he saw Duo. He was talking to a man with a clipboard fervently and hadn't looked up at them.

It was Quatre's gift, appearing at the hotel where they were living temporarily in Marseille, trying to be low key, the weeks since Nabokov's death a little uncertain until the dust cleared, until it became apparent that nothing traced back. Documents, electronic data all forged by Heero to make sure Trowa didn't come under any suspicion and instead it all was pinned on a man who didn't exist – one of Duo Maxwell's many aliases – and while Trowa, Catherine and Eli had yet to return to the circus, normal life was beginning to resume.

Quatre had come then, in a suit, the proper businessman, and he didn't look like Trowa's Quatre's at all – for which Trowa was relieved as he had appeared and offered the one thing that kept Trowa up at night: the chance to say goodbye to Duo. Fucked as it was, he dreamt of him most damn nights, felt his body respond to imagining him, his own hand useless in comparison to the memory of his skin and his lips and he hated the feelings he had. And he hated the fact he was here at the private shuttle port, ready to watch him walk away again. Duo had been in hiding somewhere until he could make a true break for it – the shuttle taking him away to god knew where.

Duo looked up then. He blinked and glanced first at Trowa and then behind him to Eli and Catherine. An expression crossed his face that Trowa didn't recognise and he approached slowly. Seeing Duo wet and covered in blood was not the image he wanted after everything between them and so maybe it was a little selfish to want to see him here, now, but then he thought of how Eli had been desperate to say goodbye. And he was justifying his actions on a five year old boy who was sad to be leaving a playmate. It was enough to make him shake his head and realise that he was being a fucking idiot.

"Tro'... I wasn't expecting you."

Trowa shrugged his shoulders and looked back to see where Catherine was on her knees talking quietly to Eli. She was probably trying to explain what was going on here and that they needed a moment.

"Eli wanted to say goodbye."

Duo laughed. "Just Eli, huh?"

"And me."

They stood looking at each other, the distance between them small but the knowledge of goodbye keeping them from drawing close together. Trowa knew he'd been lost the moment they tumbled onto a cheap bed in the Sanc Kingdom – fucked, kissed, looked into each other's eyes. Now that memory seemed so far away as Duo stood in front of him, his flight suit not fully zipped up, standing with his hands in the pockets of it. They wouldn't see each other for however damn long. Maybe forever. Trowa tried to dampen down the emotions he was feeling and realised that it had been better left as it was – no point in prolonging the inevitable. They had nothing.

"Trowa… I'm not good at the goodbye shit."

"Neither am I."

With that, Trowa bridged the gap between them, taking Duo's chin between two pale fingers and forcing his face upwards. Blue eyes widened for a second – obviously thinking of the little boy who really didn't need to see his uncle make out with another man – but Trowa's lips were brushing his and Duo seemed to not give a damn. Trowa titled his head downwards and gently prised his lips apart, slipping his tongue inside and letting his eyes slide closed. He felt Duo's fingers grip his biceps hard and he wrapped an arm around Duo's waist, pulling him closer and feeling the toughened material of the flight suit against his skin. There was a temptation to let hands roam, to suggest the men's room and continue the kiss in a private and more intimate setting. Trowa wanted one last time with Duo and he could feel that the braided man felt the same. The whole experience had been completely unexpected and had blindsided Trowa. He'd never have believed he would have done the things he'd done with Duo – never thought he'd find someone as perfectly fucked up as him.

But he had. And now this was hard.

They parted reluctantly, Duo resting his head against Trowa's chest, and he could feel the warmth of Duo's breath against his collarbone through the thin material of his faded brown t-shirt. He rested his head against the top of Duo's, tempted to kiss him one more time but just accepting the moment of touch as things were difficult enough already.

"I think I kinda fell for you, Trowa Barton."

The words were quiet against his chest and he could feel his heart race. He lifted a hand to run his fingers down that long rope of hair, trying not to imagine how it would feel loose around their bodies – trying not to remember the few snatched moments that they'd had.

"Only kinda?"

Duo lifted his head, blue eyes mischievous and a signature smirk. "Yeah, kinda. Don't want you to get all big-headed thinking that I'm all madly in love with you and shit."

"So you're not?"

"Maybe I am… just a matter of really sucky timing."

Trowa had nothing else to say to that so he just kissed Duo's forehead and let him move away, the short distance between them feeling like the gulf of a galaxy.

"Suppose I should say goodbye to little dude since that's the reason you're here and all."

Catherine rose to her feet and smiled, her hand on Eli's shoulder to stop him from moving. On closer inspection, Trowa could see that his sister looked sad, in pain, and he wanted to shake his head. He certainly didn't want his love life to hurt her again.

"Hey," Duo said and then bent down to his knees to be at Eli's level.

Eli looked up at his mother who released her hand and nodded. To that Eli moved forward and launched himself into Duo's arms – the image of the man he loved and the little boy that he considered his family seemed to create tight lump in Trowa's throat. For a second, he felt he couldn't breathe but then Duo pushed back on his heel, releasing the boy from the hug and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"So you gonna be good for your mom?"

Eli nodded and looked back at Catherine who beamed at him. Though Trowa did notice she looked slightly teary. He looked away from the scene in front of him to see the ground crew doing final checks on the shuttle and then returned his eyes back to his nephew and Duo.

"And I got this real important mission for you, little buddy. You think you can do something real important for me?"

"A mission?"

"Yeah a mission."

Eli nodded. "Sure."

"Cool…because this is super top secret important stuff. You gotta look after your Uncle for me. Get him to tell you some of his war stories. See if he can persuade you that Heavyarms was a better Gundam than Deathscythe. Think you can do that for me?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome."

"When will you be back?"

Duo sighed and deep blue eyes looked up at the green of Trowa's and then returned to the intense looking boy. There was something awfully similar about the look in their eyes. There was no blood between Trowa and Eli but they were family.

"A long time, little dude. I gotta go. I don't want to, you know, but I gotta."

"You promise you'll come back?"

The little boy's lips were trembling and Catherine stepped forward, placing her hand on Eli's small shoulder. "Eli – that's enough. Duo has to go."

"It's okay, Cathy. Yeah, I'll be back… you can count on it."

The braided man winked and then rose to his feet and gave Catherine a hug. "You look after him for me, 'kay?"

Catherine just accepted the hug and Trowa looked away again. The inevitable was approaching and he felt uncomfortable. He had never been overly emotional and this was  _hard_. Duo stepped away from Catherine and then returned his gaze to Trowa. He reached out his hand, which seemed a little casual and strange, but Trowa took it, holding long pale fingers, remembering how they felt against his skin, and then Duo gave him the briefest of hugs before stepping away.

"See ya..."

Trowa didn't have anything to say as Duo walked away, the braid swinging behind him as he did up his flight suit and went through the glass double doors to the tarmac. He suddenly felt Catherine's hand on his forearm and he looked down at his sister.

"Trowa… I can't watch you hurt again."

His green eyes met her large eyes. She had tears in her eyes.

"You should go with him."

"I can't. It's not safe."

"Tro-wa," she said with a sigh, lengthen his name unnecessarily with a certain weariness. "We are still being protected by Quatre's men… they'll be ten Magunacs protecting us. We'll be safe."

"You're my family," he said simply, looking down at his nephew.

If Duo's leaving had caused hurt to Eli, he couldn't imagine what his own would do.

"You love him," she said quietly.

Trowa blinked. He'd not entirely admitted it to himself but, yes, in a world that had been turned upside down by Nabokov, he had fallen in love with a man with fierce eyes, a killer smirk and as much blood on his hands as himself. He had fallen in love with Duo Maxwell – the broken little boy, the confident man and Shinigami. Hook, line and sinker – he accepted each part. And he wanted him. Catherine's loud voice awoke him from his reverie.

"I won't watch you let him go. I won't let you spend the rest of your life moping, Trowa Barton! Go after him!"

His hesitation irritated Catherine.

"Go!"

"You and Eli…"

"No goodbyes, little brother, just follow your heart."

Another moment of hesitation but he merely kissed Catherine on her forehead, knelt down to kiss Eli, pushing aside the boy's brown hair to repeat the action. "Look after your mom."

It's all he could say as he rose back to his feet, not looking back and running towards the tarmac. The pre-flight checks had been done, the fuelling complete, though Duo was still standing on the ground, seeming reluctant to climb up and into the shuttle. He was gazing up into the blue sky, kicking at the side of the shuttle for no reason and waiting for the courage to go inside.

Trowa went through the large glass doors, ran across the grey tarmac and stopped for a second at the stupidity of what he was doing. A few fucks in an extreme situation. That was all it had ever been with Quatre. With Heero. Maybe it was the same for Duo. Maybe it didn't mean what he thought it meant. Maybe Duo's words about "kinda" falling for him were just that – words. Duo was well known for his large vocabulary and constant chatter.

Then Duo turned and saw him. "Trowa…?"

"I'm coming with you."

"Huh?"

He stepped the remaining distance between them. "I'm coming with you."

Duo blinked. His mouth opened but words didn't come out so Trowa took the opportunity to catch those lips in a passionate kiss. He could feel Duo's initial hesitancy but then he relaxed into it, Duo's tongue meeting his own and Trowa put all his feelings into that kiss. Duo pushed off – hands hard against his taut chest.

"Jesus, Tro' – what about Eli? Catherine? They're your family."

"She told me to come."

"You're serious?"

"I'm always serious."

Duo laughed. "You know I'm a bitch to live with, just ask Heero. Plus this is gonna be really cramped."

"I don't care."

A hand was scratching the back of Duo's head, a gesture of his awkwardness. "Fine! You come with me but I'm the pilot and captain."

"Okay – as long as though I go with you."

"You're a kinda sappy guy, Barton," Duo smirked, raising his head for another kiss, the slide of lips a mix of lust and need.

Trowa panted as their lips separated and let his forehead rest against Duo's, speaking softly, his breath ghosting across his skin. "Only with you."


End file.
